


An Accident at Work

by LateStarter58



Series: Sarah's Smutty Notebook [1]
Category: Unrelated (2007)
Genre: F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Connie is looking forward to the summer break, when the college has no students getting under her feet. None, that is, except for the summer temp...





	1. An Accident at Work

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to celebrate reaching 500 followers on my Tumblr writing blog, and it turned into a series, as tends to happen when I fall in love with an OFC. Oh, and his name? Well I watched Unrelated again before I started writing this, and I am certain that’s it. Several of the adults call him Tom or Thomas in the course of the film, but clearly he prefers Oakley…

_How do I get into these situations? Why do I do it to myself? It’s not as if I didn’t see this coming (in my fevered dreams) (and my fantasies…). I really, really should not have been alone with him in the medical room. Or in the document store. Or anywhere on the planet. I’m so glad I was._

It had all started so innocuously last week. Just another student summer-temp starting, ready for eight weeks of slouching around and not helping much, no doubt. I must have made a good first impression: I was on my hands and knees in the corner trying to find something that had fallen onto the floor of the stationery cupboard when Cathy brought him in. I straightened up and pulled my dress down when she started speaking and the first thing I saw was Val’s chin hit her desk. I followed her gaze and soon my jaw was dropping too.

He was, quite simply, beautiful.

A Botticelli angel’s face on a high-hurdler’s body. Blond curls, cheekbones to die for. Nicely broad shoulders, slim torso, runner’s legs that go on forever… Big, elegant hands… _sorry, drifted off there for a moment._

_Hang on, Cathy is speaking:_

‘Connie, Val, this is Thomas Oakley, he is our extra helper this summer. Connie will show you the ropes, Tom. Any questions or worries, let me know.’

With that she was off back upstairs to continue covering for the Principal’s secretary (who had jetted off to Tenerife or somewhere), leaving the poor lad with two women old enough to be his mother. Actually, in Val’s case, his _grandmother_.

‘Nice to meet you both, ladies!’ He was reaching his hand out and I took it, mesmerised by the dazzling smile which was outshining the artificial light in the windowless general office. ‘And please, just call me Oakley, everyone does.’

I snapped out of it with an effort of will. I am forty, way too old for crushes on beautiful boys with gorgeous blue eyes.

‘So, _Oakley,_ have you started at Uni yet?’

‘Yes, in fact I’ve only got one more year, then I will be out into the big, bad world.’ He didn’t seem too worried about that if the look in his eye was anything to go by.

‘Subject?’ Val always cuts to the chase. She’s nosey and she doesn’t hide it.

‘I’m reading English at Cambridge.’ He looked oddly embarrassed, as if that were something to be ashamed of. I would have cut my arm off for a place there at his age, instead of the rather less salubrious establishment I graduated from.

‘Ooh, fancy!’ Val was teasing him and Oakley could see that so he winked theatrically at her, making her blush. He looked at me and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. I assumed then that flirting was his normal m.o. with women of all ages, and I was right, but only partially. Perhaps I might have been more cautious… oh who am I kidding? I knew exactly what I wanted from the first second I saw him walking through that door.

I went over the jobs for the day with him and then we got started. Our little team had a few major tasks to perform in the summer break: archiving and tidying-up records at first, then results collation and prep for the new intake later. It’s usually fun; not as pressured as term-time and there are opportunities to relax. Especially as - _generally_ \- we give the summer-temp the shittiest, most boring work to do. I had a feeling this year’s version would be getting some help with those tasks.

Summer at College has one great advantage: no students. It is, for the most part, pleasantly quiet and stress-free (unless there is any renovation or re-modelling going on). True, the place feels too large with so few of us in it, we few, _we happy few_ rattle around like peas in a can; we have to let someone know where we are going because if you had an accident or something nobody would find you in parts of the site.

The quiet, hot summer days rolled along. When I had the chance I would watch Oakley, just for the pleasure of seeing him move. He had an athlete’s natural grace. I would be transfixed by the sight of a bead of sweat rolling down his long lovely neck, pooling in the hollow of his throat. I wanted to lick it; to taste his young golden skin; I imagined my fingers tangled in that mop of blond curls. My nights were filled with feverish fantasies and frustrating dreams. It was heaven.  And hell. I increased the speed and intensity of my workouts and power-walks, but it didn’t help.

I found myself looking forward to getting into work in the mornings. Hell, I was even singing to myself daily as I walked along the river path into the centre of town. I usually like to look good, smartly dressed and well turned-out, but I was spending a bit longer than usual in front of the mirror and in choosing what I wore. I still look ok despite the years, with only a bit of hair dye and make-up to assist. I don’t go out much anymore, not since my divorce, so my job is my main social activity.

As I said, Oakley was an incorrigible flirt, and it didn’t take long for him to have every woman in the place eating out of his hand. Val adored him and he would tease her all the time, which she loved. As for me, well I was under his spell from the first moment, but he treated me a little differently. He and I worked as a team most of the time, in close proximity and occasionally alone together, and we had a great time talking and laughing.  I tried to rein in my feelings for him, to be sensible and professional. He liked me, clearly, but he was half my age and I was kidding myself that he would have any interest in me sexually. But every so often I would catch him looking in my direction, his expression unreadable.

Oakley breezed in a minute or two late every day but Cathy never reprimanded him once; funny, that. To be fair, he worked hard and _boy_ , was he a fast learner! What a relief that was because it is such a pain in the arse when you have to constantly monitor someone’s work. He was dextrous, bright and fun to be with, not to mention so lovely to look at that I had to lower my eyes when telling him how to do a job. If I didn’t I tended to lose my thread. We talked as we worked, but not so much that we got told off. He was witty, open and knowledgeable. Our conversations ranged over many subjects usually taboo at the office: politics, religion, _sex._ He was quite mature in many ways, and we were able to disagree without falling out.

The third week of his sojourn with us was… Well, let me explain. Cathy was off on her hols, the Principal’s secretary Janine having returned tanned but grumpy from the Canaries (she hadn’t had a great time after there was outbreak of sickness at her resort). Val was away from work too, but in her case it was for an operation, so less fun than our supervisor’s trip to Florida. As a result it was going to be just Oakley and me in the general office. For at least two weeks. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I could hardly wait to have him to myself, but I never expected…

By the first Wednesday we had finished sorting the leavers’ files so our main task for the rest of the week would be ferrying them down to the store. We loaded the trolley with boxes ready to wheel it down to the other main building, in the basement of which the store is located. It’s always a two-person job because the campus is on a hill and you need two pairs of hands to stop the heavy trolley from rolling down the slope and crashing into the glass entrance doors of the building. That would not go down well with the management. Oakley and I made it to the lobby safely and took the lift down to the bottom basement of the split-level block. I unlocked the storeroom and we began the laborious process of shelving the boxes of files.  Everything was going smoothly until he lifted up one particularly tatty-looking box and yelped loudly. He put it down carefully and held up a bleeding finger, his eyes wide.

‘Ow,’ he said softly, transformed into a little boy.

‘Oh dear! Never mind, hold it up and let’s go to the medical room. You’re in luck: I’m the duty first-aider.’

I found a clean tissue in the pocket of my cropped jeans and wrapped it around his bloody digit as we returned up the slope to the reception area. I tapped in the combination on the lock and we went in. The College nurse operates from the medical room in term-time, so it is always neat and tidy and woe betide any first-aider who doesn’t leave it like that. I sat Oakley down on the couch and fetched the green box from the shelf. I filled a bowl with tepid water and washed his cut gently. It wasn’t deep but it was ragged, so I dried it carefully and looked through the box for the most suitable dressing.

Oakley was being stoic about the whole process until I sprayed antiseptic on the wound.

‘OWWWW!!!’ He snatched his hand away from mine, his feet drumming on the floor.

‘Don’t be such a baby! That box was dirty; you don’t want to get an infection, do you?’

‘But that really STINGS!’ His eyebrows were arched, his forehead furrowed. I fought an overwhelming urge to kiss him. After a few moments during which I had applied a dressing, I gave in to that urge, but restricted myself to his finger, just shy of the cut itself.

I looked into his face as I pressed my lips to his skin and saw his expression change. He no longer looked like a little boy.

‘Better?’ I asked, not entirely innocently.

_Shit, Connie. What are you doing? Scrap that, you know exactly what you’re doing._

Oakley’s blue eyes had darkened, his lips were slightly parted and I saw his tongue come out and flick across his lower one. Simultaneously we both lifted our gaze from mouth to eyes and something seemed to snap. His voice was soft, low. Dangerous.

‘Connie, I…’

Things began to take on a dream-like quality. He reached for me; I leaned down to where he was sitting and kissed him on the mouth. I know he wanted it as much as I did because his (good) hand caught the back of my head and held me against his lips. His other was on my arm and I felt the heat of him burning me. His tongue was probing and I opened to him. I hadn’t been kissed in a long time and I had never been kissed like this. I was melting and he pulled me closer, his hands beginning to roam further.

Oakley stood and turned us so that I was against the couch, then I felt his fingers dancing along the waistband of my jeans, sending little sparks of electricity up my back and down lower. In a pause for breath between increasingly fevered kisses I pulled back, unsure of the wisdom of our actions.

‘Oakley… are you… I’m too old…’

His mouth sealed mine shut and he didn’t need to answer. I could feel his erection pressing against my leg as he pushed me onto the couch, his heart beating rapidly and his chest rising and falling fast with excitement. I ran my hands up inside his t-shirt – we were both dressed more casually than normal because of the messy job – and felt the soft skin of his back covering the rippling muscles. He was moaning now, his pelvis grinding against my core and his lips on my neck. I felt dizzy with lust. We were actually going to do this.

‘Connie?’

He was pulling my vest-top up and then his mouth was on my breasts, licking and nipping as my back arched into him.

‘Mmm..?’

‘I really want to fuck you. Right. Now.’

‘Oh god, Oakley. You had me at _nice to meet you…’_

He moaned louder than ever and I wondered idly if anyone could hear us. The door was locked and the red ‘occupied’ light would be illuminated, but although it was a fire door, I doubted it was sound-proof. But there was no-one in the office next door and anyway I was too far gone to care. He undid my bra with practiced ease – he was no virgin, that was for sure – and fell on my boobs like a starving man. I held him against me, my fingers clutching those golden curls. He rose back up to meet my mouth with his again and I pushed his cargo shorts down and off. He was naked underneath; had he been planning this, or was commando normal for him? Either way, what a slut…

_Holy shit…_

He was HUGE. If I hadn’t already been lusting after him for weeks, one look at his beautiful big cock would have done it. He saw me looking and smiled proudly.

‘Wow, Oaks. That is a thing of beauty!’

‘I’ve shown you mine…’

His deft fingers unfastened the button of my cropped jeans and he tugged them down swiftly, taking my knickers along with them. He lowered his face to my mound and it was my turn to make unintelligible noises as he licked me slowly. I collapsed back onto the couch and he manoeuvred us so he was between my legs as I stretched out.

‘You taste wonderful, Connie.’ He was looking at me as he sucked gently on my clit. My hips bucked in response; calmly he pressed me down and took a firmer grip on my thighs. I watched him as he drove me to the edge of madness with his talented tongue. My ex never liked giving oral; I was entering a whole new world of ecstasy. I tried to squeeze my thighs together but Oakley resisted, gently but stubbornly working his magic. I could feel it coming, the increasing intensity building to a peak and then I knew it was imminent.

‘Please, Oakley! Don’t…oh god…’

Then I had no breath to speak as my whole body flexed against his mouth. I stifled my cries because if I had let rip as I wanted they would have heard me all over the campus. When I opened my eyes he was crawling up the couch towards me, wiping my orgasm off his chin, a smug smile on his face.

‘Was that good?’ he asked superfluously.

I grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth down onto mine, letting my kiss do my talking. My other hand reached for his cock and he gasped as I took a firm grip.

‘Let me fuck you. Please?’

‘Hold on a sec.’

I sat up, twisted my body and reached for the handle of the cupboard above me. It opened and I pointed inside.

‘Condoms.’

He took a box down, opened it, took a packet and dropped the rest of it on the floor. Ripping the little envelope open he slid it down over himself and then he was back between my legs, lining up.

‘I’ve been dreaming of doing this since I saw your arse that first morning. I must have whacked off to that image a hundred times!’

I lifted my hips to meet his long, slow, steady thrust.

‘And I’ve wanked myself silly imaging this happening,’ I responded before I groaned as he was finally fully inside, stretching me. His head fell back as he fought for control. I kissed his neck and felt him tremble.

‘It’s OK love. Go for it.’ I whispered into his ear, nuzzling against the hollow as I grabbed at him.

Like a greyhound out of a trap, he was suddenly all movement. He braced me with his hands on my shoulders and pounded into me with all the energy of youth. He was hitting parts that I didn’t know I had and I could feel another orgasm building. I looked up and he looked down at me. He was flushed with pleasure, his mouth open and his breath coming in gusts. There were beads of sweat on his high, unlined forehead. I brushed my hand over his cheek as he slowed for a moment, gathering himself.

‘Oh god, Connie… you feel so fantastic. I wanted you so bad… I’m not gonna last too long, sorry.’

I brushed his lips with mine, and I felt him smile.

‘That’s OK, love. This is already the best fuck of my life.’

His head rolled back as he closed his eyes, took a firmer grip and began to roll his hips again. The tempo was even faster and I knew I would come again. I ran my hands down his lovely back and took a hold of that gorgeous arse. I tasted that skin, sucking and licking his neck and shoulder, progressing to biting as my release got closer. He was breathing really heavily now, then he began to swear and say my name with every thrust and I knew he was almost there as well.

‘Oh, shit…fuck, Connie…’

I covered his mouth with mine because I was afraid someone would hear him, and I swallowed the shout as his hips bucked and jerked with his orgasm. He slid his hand between us and pinched my clit, taking me over the top again and I grunted obscenely into his mouth.

We stayed like that for a few minutes; he was leaning on me, his face tucked into the hollow of my shoulder, my hands stroking his hair and the small of his back. I gloried in the feel of him, the smell of him. His cock was softening but I didn’t want him to leave me, even though I knew the condom might slip off.  Reluctantly, I let him pull away, and as he sat up on the edge of the bed I ran my fingers down his neck. He leaned into my touch.

‘Wow. That was…’

‘…fucking fantastic?’ I suggested.

‘Fantastic fucking,’ Oakley confirmed, a broad grin on his face. He chuckled and looked at me.

‘What?’

‘We’ve got a week and half more alone.’ The grin widened. I felt a fresh rush of moisture.

‘There is one thing I’d better do before we leave this room, though. I have to follow the rules.’

‘Rules?’ His eyebrows rose.

‘I’m the duty first-aider, I have to put something in the Accident Book.’

He threw his head back in laughter. ‘Is this covered in The Health and Safety at Work Act?’

‘Well, at least we used a condom…’


	2. Safety First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day at work with Oakley...

It was dark in the basement, and despite the building being pretty new, a little creepy too. No natural light came in, and with the campus being mostly deserted, I felt more than a bit uneasy being down there alone. I was hearing all kinds of noises, and misinterpreting most of them.  Suddenly I felt hot breath on my ear and I jumped, squealing. A familiar laugh sounded in the deadening space of the document store.

‘Ehehehehe.’

‘Oakley! Stop it! You scared the shit out of me!’

He was standing so close behind me I couldn’t turn round. His hands were resting on my hips, burning. A tongue darted down my neck, robbing me of my breath.

‘We can’t. Not here. If we get caught I’ll lose my job.’

 ‘You didn’t say that in the first aid room.’ I could hear the grin in his voice, feel it on my skin. His mouth stayed there, sucking.

‘I know, but that was unplanned. Bloody wonderful, but not a good idea; and definitely not here.’

I wanted him pretty badly. We hadn’t been alone together all morning, what with visitors and the Principal’s secretary hanging around chatting Oakley up. Or trying to, anyway. And then taking him away from me…

‘Where then?’ he whined, stepping back. I turned to see a pout on that gorgeous face. ‘I need to fuck you again. Preferably now.’ He glanced down and I could see the outline of his erection in his jeans. _Ah, youth!_ I looked at my watch: it was almost time for lunch.

‘We could take our breaks, go to my flat. It’s only a few minutes’ walk.’

The grin returned and he pulled me into a kiss, flattening his body against me. His cock felt rock hard, pressing into my belly. I nearly weakened, especially when his tongue worked its way into my mouth and his little earthy moan thrilled through me. But fabulous though the thought of it was, I really would get the sack if we were found fucking in the file room. Or anywhere else in College, come to that.

Was it only yesterday that we had gone at it like rabbits in the nurse’s room? I hadn’t slept much last night, thinking about his mouth, and his hands on me, and about that enormous cock of his. Forty-year-old divorcées don’t usually get fucked like that, not by such beautiful boys – not unless they are rich, which I most certainly am not. His interest didn’t seem to have waned, either, and I was feeling faint with desire as we hurried up to reception to sign out for lunch. We kept our hands off each other as we walked along the riverside path, past sunbathing office-workers, strolling pensioners and snogging lovers stretched out on the grass. Oakley nudged me with his elbow as we passed one particularly passionate couple; he winked unsubtly. Fortunately we were almost at the gate and less than a minute from my front door.

As soon as he closed it I grabbed him. I was – quite literally – having the time of my life, and I wanted to enjoy every moment of it. His mouth was hot, wet and eager, as was I. Not much foreplay, just like before; he was hard, I was soaking, no need. One look at his neck, or the slope of his cheekbones, or the sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat; nothing more was required on my part, anyway. And Oakley seemed to be on a hair-trigger when it came to sex. I threaded my fingers into his mop of blond curls, grasping, tugging. He moaned into my mouth; I pressed against him harder.

‘So, Oakley,’ I breathed into the bowl of his ear before taking a little bite on the lobe, ‘what was Janine after? Did she try to seduce you? Bend over the desk unnecessarily far?’ I licked and nibbled my down his long neck.

He chuckled darkly. ‘Jealous, are we?’ His hand was slipping down inside the back of my cotton skirt and dancing along the top of my knickers, tickling the top of my bum. I shivered as tingles ran up and down my spine.

‘No,’ I pouted, ‘not unless you’ve been fucking her all morning.’ I looked him the eye. ‘You haven’t, have you?’

‘My balls wouldn’t be this blue if I had,’ he responded through gritted teeth as he rutted against me. ‘Why do you think I came to find you in the store? Anyway, she’s not my type.’

‘Not your type?’ I said, incredulous. I held up my hand and counted the necessary attributes off on my fingers.  ’She’s female, with a pulse. That covers it, doesn’t it?’

‘Hey! I might flirt with plenty of women, but I only _fuck_ the really sexy ones.’

Despite myself, I blushed at this. God, that boy has such power.  As I said before, he had every woman of whatever age eating out of his hand within days of starting work. It didn’t bother me at all at first – it was clearly the way he rolled – but this morning I was alarmed to discover that - now - it did. I had to bite my tongue when Janine came into the general office and asked if she could ‘borrow’ him for a while. Of course, the fact that I disliked her didn’t help, but now he and I had actually had sex, his flirting really gnawed at my bones.

‘Silver-tongued devil…’

He waggled his eyebrows at this and glanced around. I pointed to my bedroom door across the hallway. After balancing on the narrow treatment bed yesterday, the prospect of a nice soft bed appealed; at my age, comfort means a lot.

‘Come on then,’ he said, tugging at my hand. Knowing him, it wasn’t the shortness of our lunch break that was worrying him. I followed as he started to shed his clothes as he went. I watched in awe as the bronzed smoothness of his back was revealed, the muscles moving over the bones making my mouth water. I caught his arms to stop him so I could lick the skin between his shoulder blades; he tasted salty, with a hint of cedar wood. My hands moved around the front to stroke the soft/hard planes of his stomach, the fingertips of one teasing the fine trail of hair descending from his navel to the top of his low-slung jeans. A growl rumbled up, seemingly from near that very spot, erupting from between his bared teeth as his hips bucked. Grabbing my wrist he turned us and pushed me onto the bed; I made a mental note to introduce him to the concepts of ‘subtlety’ and ‘romance’ at some point in the future.

‘Hold on, Oaks! I’m still dressed!’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, diving up under my skirt and ripping my knickers off, literally. I was giggling like a girl; he made me feel eighteen again. For that alone I loved him.

Now, suddenly, he was subtle. He nuzzled my pubic hair, making approving noises. I had assumed young men nowadays preferred a bare fanny, but from what he had said in our previous frank discussions about sex, I gathered he was not in that camp. Then his tongue flicked over my clit, making me squeal.

‘Shhhh! You’ll disturb the neighbours.’

More chuckling.

More licking.

More squealing.

His fingers joined his mouth, gently rubbing around the entrance, then inside my cunt, making me writhe in pleasure. I could feel it building, and I caught a handful of his hair in my fist, guiding his movements and pressure until I was shouting his name as my release washed over me. He would have stayed there but I had other ideas. I pulled him up to my face, kissing lips still shining with my orgasm. Then I undid his jeans. As usual, he was naked underneath – how can that be comfortable? Still, it saved time.

‘Stay there,’ I said, and I stood off the bed to take off my clothes, then crawled back on and took that wonderful cock in hand. I lowered my head to kiss the tip reverently; Oakley gasped and clutched at the bedhead.

‘Lie down if you feel safer,’ I said, smiling at the look of dreamy arousal on his face. He did, stretching his long, long legs out on my duvet. I took a moment to admire him: fluffy blond curls; a beautiful honey-coloured face (his mouth slightly open, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip); blue eyes fixed on me; a tanned, glistening torso rising and falling rapidly in heightened excitement; that magnificent member standing proud, arching up towards his flat belly; the aforementioned endless legs.

‘Jeez woman, you are punching _way_ above your weight…’ I whispered.

‘No you’re not, Connie,’ he muttered. ‘Now, suck me.’

‘Enough with the romance, Oaks.’

We exchanged raised eyebrows, then I shut him up by licking his shaft from base to tip, dwelling a little on the sensitive part just under the tip. His thighs were quivering, so I rested my hands on them and manoeuvred myself in between so I could really get to work.  Maintaining eye-contact I slid my mouth down over him, stretching my fingers round the base. He tasted delicious, musky-male and salt-sweet. I worked my tongue on him as much as I could in the space available; he almost filled my mouth and I was nowhere near taking him all in.

His hips bucked a little, and the strain on his face betrayed the control he needed to restrain himself. Given his size, I knew I would have to practice this more before I could let him really go to town. It had been a few years since I gave head, and never to such a well-endowed lover. I alternated between sucking and licking him, feeling the muscles in his legs and stomach twitching and his breathing getting more laboured.

‘I need to fuck you, Connie’ he whined, his hand which had grabbed my hair gently tugging me off him and up towards the top of the bed. ‘Ride me, please.’

‘Since you asked so nicely...’

I reached into the draw of my bedside table; I had bought condoms on the way home last night, in case of this very eventuality.

_What do you mean? No, just being sensible, grown-up. Safety first!_

I slid one over him, drawing out the process, revelling in the feel of him and the way his eyes rolled back in his head. Then I lifted up on my knees so I could impale myself.

Oh god it was a magnificent sensation! The tip pushing in between my wet – no, dripping – folds; the breadth of him pushing me open, stretching me, and it just went on and on and on until he was all the way in and the slight discomfort I felt added to the pleasure, somehow. Oakley had watched it all, his eyes glued to the place where we were joined and the little groans and whimpers escaping from his lovely mouth told me it felt just as good for him.

I stayed still, relishing the feeling of fullness for a minute or two, aware his muscles were quivering with expectation again. His hands rested lightly on my hips, but I felt his grip tighten and knew I had better get moving. As slowly as I could I raised myself up until only the tip of him remained inside me, dropping back down at the same leisurely pace. The hands on my hips got tighter, so I speeded up for the next stroke. After a few minutes of this slow fucking I felt a little buck from him as I went down, and that seemed to open the floodgates. Suddenly he was thrusting up into me at a rapid pace. His face was a picture of effort: reddened, his eyes staring intensely at me, his jaw tight, teeth gritted, sweat on his beautiful brow, grunts and growls emerging from somewhere deep in his chest

It was mind-blowingly good, and I began to phase out. Spotting my distraction, he took his chance and flipped us. Once I was on my back he pulled my legs up onto his shoulders and really began to pump his hips. His pubic bone was crashing down on my clit with every stroke and I felt another orgasm building. Oakley started to shout with every thrust: oaths; curses; my name. The pressure in my belly built and built and then it exploded as intense feelings of pleasure rushed in from every extremity to focus on my core. I couldn’t breathe and I just had to cling onto him desperately until I was able to function again. He slowed his tempo while I was spasming, but soon picked it up again as I returned from whatever planet he had sent me to.

‘Oh god, Connie, you feel so good.’

‘Yes, I do,’ I teased, twisting my hips as best I could in that position to increase our mutual enjoyment. ‘Thanks to you and that magnificent weapon of yours.’

‘Oh shit! I’m coming…’

His hips were a blur as he lost his rhythm and began to jerk uncontrollably. I was so near a third orgasm that I slipped my hand between us to tip myself over.

Oakley collapsed onto me, his chest heaving, sweat dripping onto my face. I licked it off as best I could. He was hot and wet against me, but I felt no urge to push him away. Finally he slid out of and off me to lie on his back, still gasping for breath. I allowed my hand to drift up his thigh and was rewarded with a twitch from his cock.

‘Jesus woman, you’re insatiable! Give me a minute…’

I nuzzled his neck, delighting in the sweet, sweaty, sex smell of him. ‘Nah, I’m good. I just like touching you.’ I snuggled closer, despite us both being bathed in sweat. It was pretty warm out.

‘What? I thought we could…’

‘We don’t have much more time, Oaks. Anyway, I’m hungry.’

He rubbed his belly. ‘Actually, now you mention it, so am I.’

I got up and without dressing, not even putting on a robe, I fetched cheese, crackers and fruit from the kitchen, along with water (drinking anything stronger in the middle of a work day – not a good idea). We ate, occasionally feeding each other. It was an intensely erotic experience for me. His fingers ghosting over my lips; mine brushing the occasional crumb off those few hairs over his sternum; the sight of him sucking on a strawberry; the look in his eyes as our gazes met.

I was pretty sure we would be fucking again before sundown. For now I was sated in every possible way; I knew this was not a passionate romance, not at all. No, this was just a torrid affair; a sexy liaison that had reawakened my womanhood. Nothing more, but nothing less. And more than enough for me.

Eventually we had to dress and make our way back through the park to the campus. I thought he wouldn’t want people to see, but Oakley insisted on holding my hand as we walked along the river bank, every now and then leaning in to whisper something dirty in my ear. He liked seeing me blush, I think, and it certainly left any passers-by in no doubt as to our ‘relationship’ – I most definitely was not his mother. He loosed his hold when we got closer. No point in asking for trouble.

We had only been back in the office about fifteen minutes when Janine turned up. I was at my computer answering emails and Oakley was on the floor behind me sorting out some stationery.  Every now and then he would be ‘forced’ to retrieve something from under my chair, brushing against my legs, breathing heavily. He had been doing just that when she walked in, although fortunately he was out of sight from the door. His head popped up beside me when he heard her voice, flashing that cheeky grin of his at her.

‘Hello again, Janine,’ he chirped, ‘need some more help?’ I poked him hard in the ribs.

Her cheeks flushed as he worked his magic. They should bottle it – it would be a global phenomenon in no time.

‘Er… no t-t-t-thanks, dear. I just need to borrow the label maker, Connie, if I may.’

‘Of course,’ I responded loftily, amused by her discombobulation, ‘help yourself. Just fill in the book before you go.’

I watched, trying desperately not to laugh as she leaned on Val’s vacant desk and completed the loan book entry, wiggling her arse in Oakley’s direction. His hand was tickling my thigh, the fingertips doing a little dance which was reawakening all those nerve endings he had stimulated to such great effect just a little while before. He looked at Janine, a smile dancing on his lips. He knew the power he had, and he enjoyed wielding it. But flirting and teasing was one thing, in his book and mine; fucking was quite another.

Later in the afternoon we had our tea break together in the small seating area outside. The sun was warm on my skin and I stretched my limbs, aware of the unfamiliar aches and pains I was suffering thanks to the vigorous activities we had been engaging in. He smiled as I groaned and shifted my position on the hard wooden bench; I was tender.

‘This is all your fault, you randy little bugger. I can’t get comfy on here.’

He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. We sipped our tea and looked down the slope of the hill towards the remains of Colchester’s Roman town walls. People have been sitting eating and drinking on this spot for many centuries, even before Roman soldiers were garrisoned in the very place where the College now stands. If you dig into the flower bed behind the seat we were sitting on you find their empty oyster shells in abundance. I allowed my eyes to wander onto my companion; Oakley’s hair looked like a Renaissance angel’s as he sat next to me, the sunshine reflecting off his golden skin.

He was _so_ beautiful _, so_ attractive _, so_ young; what did he want with _me_ , I wondered? I suppose I was available, but surely he had no trouble finding willing partners of his own age? As if he was reading my mind, he moved his leg so it was against mine. It was subtle – this was a very public place, in full view of the ground staff who were cutting the grass on the slope below us – but affectionate.

‘Why me, Oakley?’

He smiled, running his fingertips along my forearm, just for a second. Then he turned his head towards me and murmured.

‘Because you are the sexiest woman I have ever met, that’s why.’

I snorted; that seemed unlikely. ‘But surely you have girls throwing themselves at you all the time. Why would you want an old woman like me when you could have someone young and firm?’

A frown darkened his face. ‘Firstly, you are _not_ old. Secondly, girls my age are boring, on the whole. And I can’t imagine any of them being better in bed than you are.’

All this was being said _sotto voce,_ but I still blushed wildly, and found myself checking my watch to see how long we had before the end of the working day. I looked up into his face, near enough to kiss if I just moved a few inches, but as good as a mile away under the circumstances. His eyes were dark with lust, and I saw that tongue flick over his bottom lip in a way I know indicated his arousal. I stopped worrying about why, and decided to simply enjoy the situation as it was. After all, he’d be leaving us in a few weeks’ time, and be off back to Cambridge after that.

But if the last twenty-four hours were anything to go by, he and I could have one hell of a lot of sex in a few weeks…

_To be continued…_


	3. Caution: Hot Liquids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of what happens between Oakley, the student temp at the Sixth Form College and OFC Connie, the Admin who is charged with, er, supervising him… Sun, booze, food and sex. What more does one need? Oh yes… love.

_Which is sexier? Strawberries or maybe ice cream? Chocolate tart?_

_OH DEAR GOD_

Only the week before such considerations were hardly at the top of my shopping list, but now, there I stood in the dessert aisle of Waitrose, trying to decide what to prepare for a sexed-up barely-older-than-a-teenager toyboy I had somehow managed to get to fuck me.

Twice. Royally…

_Dear_ _GAHHHHDDD_

And he was coming here to meet me. With an overnight bag.

I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the chiller cabinet in front of me. In all honesty I had little idea what I was doing. Following our _lunchtime of love_ I had been unable to bear the thought of a lonely evening on the sofa with a boxset, so I had invited him to come over for something to eat.

‘And you can stay of you’d like…’

I almost clapped my hand over my mouth when I’d said it. What the hell was I thinking? I knew this wasn’t a _romance_ , of course I did. All the time there was this little voice whispering in my ear _‘Don’t get attached. Don’t get any silly romantic ideas. He’ll be gone soon. It’s just the sex…’_ But I _liked_ him. Not just his looks - which were breathtakingly stunning, btw – but _him. Actual Oakley._ We had become friends, I like to think, well before the hot moments in the first-aid room with the dressings and the antiseptic spray.

_And the condom._

See? I was doing again. Standing in the middle of my local supermarket, in a daze, thinking about sex with Thomas Oakley: half my age and beautiful enough to be a bloody male model. Actually, too beautiful for that, although he _can_ manage the necessary pouting sulky look that seems to be _de rigueur…_

_His lips, though. How he tastes… His tongue… Oh dear god, that cock!_

‘Earth to Connie.’

I jumped about ten feet straight up as a deep dark voice spoke softly into my ear and hot breath washed over my neck.

‘You looked miles away; what _were_ you thinking about?’ he asked as the colour rose up my neck. I could feel myself blush and knew it was obvious I’d been caught.

‘You, you bugger,’ I admitted, _sotto voce_. ‘Your body, actually.’

He grinned that annoying self-satisfied expression of his. It’s at once infuriating and unbearably attractive.

‘Knew it!’ he said triumphantly. ‘So, what are we having?’ He held my gaze for a few seconds before laughing. We both knew what we would be ‘having’ later.

I nodded at my basket. ‘Prawns, pork escalope – I thought I’d do them _Wiener-schnitzel_ style – and I was just considering pudding.’

He leaned forward and whispered into my ear again. ‘I rather thought that would be you, actually…’ His fingertips just brushed the bare skin of my arm, making the hair rise up to meet them. Once again I felt light-headed and the ready-made trifles went a little blurry. Then I pulled myself together before I lost it, jumped him and we were asked to leave.

‘Fair point,’ I agreed, and reckoned I had ice cream a-plenty in the freezer – should any additional sweetness be needed.

We wandered over to the wine section. ‘Do you like wine, Oaks?’ I realised that we had never really discussed food and drink, which was odd, because normally it’s what I think about the most. But then, since he showed up in the office, my mind has been elsewhere. Quite a lot.

‘I do, but I’m more of a beer man.’

‘OK, choose some beer then and I’ll pick out a white to go with the food.’

A few minutes later Oakley was squeezing his long body into my tiny FIAT. I watched the process appreciatively. He was wearing a sleeveless vest and baggy shorts, and I admired the way the sun made the hairs on his arms and legs look like gold. His skin was honey-coloured and dotted with an intriguing pattern of freckles. I knew it tasted salt-sweet, just how I had dreamed it would from the first moment I saw him. His blonde curls were bleached in places, sun-kissed and infinitely grabbable. He was wearing sunglasses and he looked every inch the surf-bum, even in the confines of the Waitrose car park. He caught me staring and laughed, not even a tiny bit self-conscious.

Perhaps because we had become friends before we actually had sex, this new stage in our relationship seemed natural and without discomfort - when we were together, that is. When I was alone thoughts bounced around in my head and I felt dizzy with all the possible implications, but when he was there, next to me… All the wonderful, earthy, sexy reality of him swept all my foolish worries away and all I could feel was joy in his existence. As we drove the short distance to my flat we sang noisily along with the radio and I felt as if twenty years of my life had been deducted from the total. When he smiled at me, when he kissed me and held me I felt as if all the events of those years, all the anger and misery of my marriage and divorce had never happened. He made me feel like I had a second chance.

_And therein lies the peril I was facing…_

Preparing dinner was fun, if a little dangerous. Initially, I sent Oakley with a beer to sit in the sun on my little balcony. My flat is a very nice one, though I say it myself: my ex and I split everything in half which meant that I had a very tidy sum to spend and I opted to invest it in this property. I have a pleasant view of the river, and I am far enough away from the road not to get too much noise. The southwest aspect means I have a pleasant place to take an aperitif on a summer’s evening, even eat dinner if I am alone or with just one special someone. I was almost ready to start cooking when I heard him in the sitting room, probably nosing about my shelves, then he appeared in the doorway.

‘Can I help?’

‘You can lay the table, if you like. I thought we could eat on the balcony if you fancy it.’

I pointed to the cutlery drawer next to where I was chopping salad ingredients. He sauntered over and stood unnecessarily close to me while he picked out knives and forks. As he turned to leave he leaned over my shoulder to look at what I was doing and nuzzled my hair. I felt such a rush of lust that I nearly cut my finger off.

‘Oh shit Oaks! You are a hazard in here! Just go and let me finish this before I do myself some serious damage.’

‘Put that knife down for a minute.’

The tone was steady but commanding. I put the knife to one side and turned around. He was very close and his blue eyes were fixed on mine, dark and heavily-lidded. I felt a rush of blood to my nether regions and the accompanying light-headedness. His hands rested on my hips, his thumbs just touching the skin above my waistband, burning. I reached up and pulled him down to meet my mouth: he wasn’t the only one who could take control. Our lips danced, then our tongues, and then I felt his hands move to pull me against his body. He was getting hard. Of course.

_Making a salad is never going to feel the same after this_

I heard a scraping noise and realised he was moving the chopping board and its contents to one side and then I felt his fingers gliding up the back of my thighs. My breath caught in my throat as they reached their goal and he tugged none too gently at my knickers. Meanwhile I was following his treasure trail to the cock of gold (sorry – too good to resist) and as usual, he seemed to have forgotten to put underwear on. All the time his lips had been on me, nipping, sucking, kissing, but as my fingers closed around his burgeoning length he paused and held his breath. I squeezed lightly and he moaned into my neck as his hips jerked a fraction.

‘Feeling peckish?’ I asked, feigning innocence. He answered with a growl as he hoisted me up onto the work surface and buried his face between my legs. His tongue teased and tickled and I wriggled, trying to get him where I wanted.

‘Naughty, greedy girl. Patience…’

My hands were slipping and sliding in all directions, trying to get purchase on the shiny surface but his hands held my legs firmly apart as he worked his magic. Every part of me seemed to resonate in his vicinity, so it wasn’t long before I felt the familiar sensations building inside me. No man had been able to make me come as hard and soon I was tugging on his curls as I tried not to fall off the worktop in the throes of my orgasm.

‘Delicious.’

‘Wait till you taste my cooking,’ I said, when I could breathe normally. Now Oakley was standing upright, we discovered that his long legs meant I was at the perfect height for him to fuck me… so naturally, he did.

And oh my, it was wonderful. Fast, hard and dirty… just a little hors-d’oeuvre, it turned out, but still enough to have me wailing and clinging to him like a drowning woman. By the time he came I was mostly off the worktop and he was holding me up by my thighs but that was OK. Frankly, I think I could have died while he was hammering into me and not noticed. That cock… oh my, that fabulous thing. And him: so willing, _so able_ …

I doubted my legs would hold me when he gently lowered me to the floor, but somehow they did and I recovered my composure enough to finish my preparations. Ten minutes later we were sitting down to dinner, me with a cool glass of white wine, Oaks with a bottle of Nastro Azzurro. He looked stunning in the warm evening light.

_Who am I kidding? He would look amazing in the darkest night, the wettest morning, the snowiest afternoon..._

When we had finished eating he rubbed his stomach as he swigged from the bottle and groaned appreciatively. ‘Great food, Con. Thanks!’

‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to cook for someone else for a change. More fun.’ I raised my eyebrow. The fun so far had not been confined to food.

He grinned and then his tongue slid along his lower lip in a way that I knew meant he was aroused. And, consequently, that I was too. I looked at him, sitting there, so young and beautiful. I had no idea why he had chosen me, but I wasn’t about to complain or question it any more. Oakley was looking back at me, his eyes roaming over my body. I had not replaced my undies after our earlier exploits, and I saw his gaze travelling up my legs and under my short cotton skirt.

‘Let’s clear up first, shall we?’

Oakley gathered the dirty plates up and between us we had everything sorted in about ten minutes flat. I may have bent down a tad more than usual when loading the dishwasher, but it had the desired effect. As soon as the last item was stowed I became aware of a hot, throbbing body behind me.

‘Time for dessert…’ he murmured into my hair, his lips then sucking softly on that place on my neck which seems to be directly connected to my core. Large warm hands grasped me firmly and I was walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. He stopped only when I was against my large, heavy, oak dining table.

‘Hands on the table.’

That dominant voice again. I liked it. I complied.

‘Condoms?’ Same tone, no truck with delay.

‘Bedside cabinet, darling.’

_Not sure I am sub material…_

He was back in seconds and there was even less subtlety than usual from Oakley. A little flurry of movement and then a hot, hard cock was sliding into me. It was slow but relentless and oh so delicious. He paused when he could go no further, his breath on my neck as he loomed over me. His knees were pressing against my legs and I knew he had to crouch but then I felt him push hard and I was on the table, lifted up by the power of his thrusts.

I had no way push back, no purchase on the polished wood with my feet in mid-air, so I concentrated on the sensations I was experiencing. The tight, almost-but-not-quite-painful grip of his large hands on my hips; the rhythmic slapping of his long, powerful thighs against the backs of mine and of his pelvis on my bottom; the slick, wet sliding of his cock: in and out, in and out, making my whole nervous system begin to focus on that special place he was hitting every time. The sounds were brutal, raw, and unmistakable: grunts of lust, wet noises of coupling and the steady beat of the table on the wood floor. My neighbours must have known what was happening.

_Good._

Suddenly he pulled out, turned me over and began to drag my camisole off.

‘Tits, I need to see your tits, Connie!’

‘And I need to be on a softer surface than _this_ , Oaks!’ I said, grabbing his arm roughly to pull myself up and off the table. I walked quickly towards the bedroom, shedding my clothes as I went. I turned to see if he was following. He was standing by the table, but when I smiled and beckoned he took off after me at a run. He caught me up as I crossed the hall and scooped me into his arms. He was wearing only his singlet and I took the chance to drag it over his head before her threw me unceremoniously onto my bed. His eyes burned into my flesh as he stood, chest heaving and erection bobbing.

‘Come on then. You wanted them: here they are.’ I scooted up the bed and grasped my boobs, squeezing them together provocatively. Oakley jumped onto me and buried his face between them, his still-hard cock digging into my thigh. He licked, kissed, sucked and bit, moaning and growling, his hands wandering everywhere until they found my folds again.

‘God, Connie, I love your tits, I love your cunt, I love all of you…’

I looked at the face above me, the blue eyes dark with lust as he slid his magnificent cock inside me one more time and seeing him there, feeling him, breathing in his sexy, clean male fragrance, I almost said it aloud:

_I love you too, Oakley._

Then he was pulling my legs up onto his shoulders and I stopped worrying about such unimportant things as love and concentrated on the tightening anticipation in my belly. My whole body was tingling, his smell washing over me, his breath blasting hotly over my face with every thrust of his pistoning hips.

_Enjoy the moment, forget the rest; just enjoy him NOW_

And there it was. Only just over an hour since the last one, but better – incredibly - than I remembered: that chrysanthemum burst of pleasure, that beautiful thrumming of every nerve, that feeling that my whole body could fly out the window and soar with the swallows and sing with the skylarks. The exquisite joy of the moment, which, perpetuated by Oakley’s power and sheer beauty, seemed to last for hours. Only when I could no longer catch my breath did it seem to abate and I floated down, down, back to earth.

Back to heaven more like.

I thought it was over, because he was still, breathing heavily and looking at me.

‘Oh god, Connie, you feel amazing, I just…I don’t…’

He renewed his attack, holding my ankles and speeding up this time. Soon he was thrusting raggedly and with a great roar, he came, grinding into me as if he couldn’t get deep enough. He released me and I pulled him down onto my breasts and he lay there, recovering until we were both breathing normally again.

‘You know, Connie,’ he said, sliding up the bed to lay his head on the pillow next mine, ‘sex with you is not like any I’ve had before.’

I smiled uncertainly. ‘Better, I hope…?’

‘Oh god, YES! Much, _much_ better.’

‘Better than your first time?’

‘Oh Christ yes! That was a bit of a disaster, actually.’ He looked at me shyly. ‘When we fuck, it feels more, I suppose you could call it, _real._ Like it’s special, like I can enjoy every split-second of it because we both want it as much or something, I don’t know. But when you come around me, Connie, I feel like a KING! Like you know what to do and I know what to do and it’s all just so fucking MAGNIFICENT!’

I stroked his cheek. His eyes sparked with happiness and there was no trace of the smugness he tended to show in public. This was the real Oakley, the one I had glimpsed. The one I wanted to hold. He kissed my lips tenderly.

‘Thanks for asking me to stay. I’m really looking forward to sleeping with you.’

I chuckled.

‘No, I mean it. I can’t wait to be next to you when you sleep. When I sleep. I _mean_ it.’

I kissed him on the forehead. ‘Me too, darling. Me too.’

I looked at the clock. It was almost ten pm, and dark outside. I got up and went to close the balcony door and any other windows I thought needed it: rain was forecast for overnight. I checked the front door was locked and brushed my teeth. By the time I got back to the bedroom Oakley’s eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply; his hair a golden cloud on the pillow, his face angelic at rest.

I slid under the sheet beside him and put on the bedside light. I picked up my book and tried to read, but it was no good. The words were a blur; the lines of print swam before my eyes. I was crying.

The things he had said had made me feel something I had been studiously avoiding since we first fucked, unbelievably only the afternoon before. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

What he had said about how sex with me felt, well, I had the same feeling. The difference was, I knew what it meant, for me at least.

It meant I was in love with Thomas Oakley.


	4. Risk of Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oakley and Connie have spent the night together – now they go back to work, but can he behave?

_Ah yessss_

The shower was hot and the water felt good on my aching muscles. Over the past three days I had had more sex than in the past five years, and despite being pretty fit for my age, my body was complaining. They had been fabulous, thrilling and not a little unsettling, these hot summer days of lust with Oakley. But last night I had realised that I was falling for him, and that was worrying me. I was too old for him – too old for _this_ and the joy of waking up next to such a young and beautiful body was tempered by the knowledge that it could not last.

The warmth of the water was reviving me but I was stiff and uncomfortable. My shoulder creaked audibly as I reached for the shampoo and I moaned.  
  
'Hey! You'd better not be starting without me!'  
  
I rolled my eyes. 'Can't I have a shower in peace?' I heard the bathroom door open and his voice came from much closer. And from much deeper in his chest.  
  
'May I join you?'  
  
In all honesty, I'd have preferred not, but then I opened my eyes and saw his lovely face outside the cubicle. That mop of blond curls and his comically raised eyebrows were clearly visible through the frosted glass. I was putty in his hands and he knew it. There was room for both of us, but I wasn't sure my poor fanny could take much more of his attention without a rest.  
  
'Okay... As long as you are really gentle with me, Oaks. I'm sore as hell.'  
  
He slipped inside the shower swiftly, his hands gliding up my wet body lightly. 'I'm sorry about that, ' he said, smirking, obviously not sorry at all. 'I think I have something which will help.'  
  
He dropped to his knees and began nudging at my mound with his nose.  I felt a rush of blood and began to get wet immediately, and not from the water. He could play me like a violin: I needed to wash, dress and get to work, but there I stood, letting this youthful Adonis drive me wild with lust yet again.  
  
I say 'stood', but my quivering legs began to give way and I had to brace myself while he lifted one over his shoulder and licked and sucked enthusiastically, bringing me to the brink rapidly, despite my lingering discomfort. I was making quite a lot of noise and I half-expected my neighbour to bang on the wall, since it was only just after 7 am. I clutched at the slippery tiles, knocking bottles over which crashed to the floor noisily.

‘Shhhh!’

‘Oh shut up, Oaks! It’s all your fault, anyway!’

He was getting back on his feet and he slid under the stream of water, sighing happily. ‘That feels good! I’m a bit achy myself, to tell the truth.’ He grinned salaciously. ‘You’re wearing me out, Connie. Eheheheh.’

‘In that case, you won’t want me to do this.’ He gasped as I ran my fingers up his thighs teasingly. I watched as the leering expression changed to one of intense concentration as I took him in hand. He was already at half-mast after his ministrations and it wasn’t long before he was becoming as hard as rock. I ran my fingers gently up and down his length, luxuriating in the softness of the skin over the taut tissue beneath. From time to time he would twitch, and his hips made tiny bucking movements as I continued my feather-light touches.

Little whimpering noises were coming from Oakley’s mouth and I found them both sexy and endearing, but they changed character when I gripped him more firmly. His eyes opened and seared into mine. One of his hands got hold of my waist as I began to work his cock more rapidly, turning my thumb over the tip at the end of each stroke to spread the pre-cum over him. He moaned and jerked forward into my hand on every beat, maximising the effect. Soon the moans became muffled swearing and shouts of my name through gritted teeth.

‘Fuck, fuck, Connie, FUUUUCK!’

Fortunately there was enough hot water left for us to clean each other up before we left the bathroom to get ready for the day’s work.

Breakfast was in equal parts fun and a pain in the arse. Actually, that description fits Oakley, too. I had never seen anyone make eating cereal sexy before. Each spoonful was accompanied with the sort of eye-fuck which would set a nun’s knickers on fire. He was playing footsie under the table with me, and when his toes started walking up my thigh I had to scold him.

‘Pack it in, Oakley! I have to be at work in twenty minutes. I can hardly function well in the office if you send me there in a state of high sexual arousal, can I?’

Now, _most people_ would take that as admonishment. Oakley, on the other hand, took it as a challenge.

………………………

Three hours later it was coffee time at College and I was glaring at Thomas Oakley over the rim of my mug. So far that morning he had made my life a dizzying mixture of pleasure and discomfort.

When the students aren’t there we just make do with the filter machine in the corner of the General Office. It was still only him and me there, although the reception desk for visitors was at one end of the room, so it wasn’t exactly private, even without the string of staff-members walking by or dropping in for information, help, files or simply a chat. But none of that stopped Oakley: it seemed that he had decided to make it his life’s work to keep me wet and if possible on the edge of orgasm _all day._ I suspect that because I had said that we would not be popping home for nookie at lunchtime (I needed to go to _Boots_ and _Marksies_ in my break), waiting until we finished at five o’clock was too much for the randy little bastard. But mainly I think it was because he loved to see me squirm.

Janine the Principal’s PA was a frequent and – from my point of view – unwelcome visitor. I swear she came downstairs for something twenty times that day, each time for some inconsequential reason. Of course I knew it was purely to ogle my tender little morsel. The cougar-bait in question was still sorting out the muddle in the stationery cupboard, so he was crawling about on the carpet by my feet when she ‘popped in’ at about 9.15 to see if I knew if a certain Head of Department was on site. He kept his head down and crept a little further under my chair as I engaged Janine in conversation.

‘I’m not sure if he _is_ here today,’ I said, struggling to keep a straight face, ‘why don’t you check the signing-in book? Ah!’

She looked at me quizzically. ‘You alright, Connie? In pain?’

I nodded, trying to regulate my breathing as Oakley nuzzled my inner thigh from his position under my desk. ‘Overdid it at the gym, I think.’ A hot tongue very close to my sex made me gasp again. ‘I-I-I-I k-k-k-keep getting twinges.’ I wriggled in my seat, and he took the opportunity to slip two fingers into me. My eyes were close to rolling back in my head, but I pretended to become absorbed in the email on my screen and Janine took the hint. She turned away and headed for the door, only to pop back into my line of sight as she perused the book on the reception desk that everyone in the building had to sign when they came in. In fact her eyes were scanning the office, no doubt she was wondering where Oakley was. I was praying she didn’t guess that he was between my legs with his tongue on my clit.

Finally she headed for the doors to the stairs.

‘Get out of there! You’ll get me sacked!’ I whispered as loudly as I dared.

I scooted the chair back and his head popped up from under my skirt, just low enough to avoid a concussion. He was pouting, his lips shiny with my arousal. He looked unbearably sexy and oddly cute.

‘Spoilsport. Just think of it as an exercise in self-control.’

I swiped at him. As usual he was too fast for me and he ducked back under and away, but not without stroking my inner thigh again.

Now, after two hours of him buggering about like that, not to mention the looks he kept giving me, I was getting pretty fed up.

‘You must stop, Oaks. Seriously. I’ll lose my job. So will you, but it’s _my_ livelihood.’ I tried to get him to meet my gaze but he seemed to have the devil in him that day. He just grinned and chuckled and I felt that mix of feelings he had inspired in me many times already: I wanted to slap him and kiss him simultaneously. Of course, doing either of those things at work would have got me dismissed - if caught. I had already kissed him in the Medical Room, and that was really playing with fire, especially since we had done more than just _kiss_ …

To be fair, he did rein it back a bit for the rest of the morning. In all honesty, I have no idea why he felt the need to tease me: just _being_ _himself_ was enough. One look at that golden skin; the way his jeans hugged that beautiful round arse; a whiff of his fragrance; a flash-back to the night before, or even earlier that day in the bathroom… His very proximity, nay, _his very EXISTENCE_ was enough to have me turned on to the max.

But tease he did, resuming his little game as soon as I returned from town and headed for the seating area outside to eat my sandwich. As I rounded the side of the building I could see his long legs stretched out along one of the benches by a table. Once he was fully in view I saw he was lying on his back with his arms over his head. This meant that his shirt was untucked and thus his treasure-trail was showing. The little bastard had obviously picked up that that is one of my ‘things’…

Taking a deep, calming breath, I slid onto the bench on the opposite side of the stone table. He opened one eye.

‘Get everything you needed in town?’

‘Yes thanks. What have you been doing?’

He hoiked himself up onto his elbows, regarding me through his aviator sunglasses. ‘Oh I strolled up to get a roll from the sarnie shop, came back here and pretended it was your pussy I was eating.’

I felt my face turn beetroot red as I glanced around furtively to check there was nobody within earshot. When I turned back he had a very smug look on his stupid, beautiful face.

_What is the matter with me?_

Why, in light of this kind of behaviour, did I seem to be falling in love with this monster? If you had only today to go on, you might consider him simply a sex-mad, immature and irresponsible adolescent: hardly the sort of male a woman like me would be interested in for anything other than a quick fling. But despite a very loud voice in my head saying that indeed all this could possibly be was a brief carnal affair, I could not deny my feelings went beyond that.

Because, appearances aside, there is much more to Thomas Oakley than he usually shows the world. I had glimpsed it, and felt privileged that he had allowed me to. Did he feel in any way the same as I did? I didn’t know. We had become friends and now sexual partners: if he wanted something deeper than that, he had yet to express it.

‘Please Oaks, stop. I need this job.’ My voice was low, and the smile on his face dissolved when he saw my expression.

‘I’m sorry, Con. I won’t do anything to get you fired. I promise.’

And there it was. That little flicker of uncertainty, that tiny chink in the armour. Of course, that made me want to hug him far more than his earlier risk-taking and teasing had made me want to thump him.

‘Alright, but please, no more touching, and no more dirty talk, Not on campus.’ I smiled. ‘Off campus, feel free.’

He chuckled, nodding. ‘It’s a deal.’

I selected the afternoon’s tasks carefully, making sure that we had to sit at separate desks, toiling at our workstations. The layout of the office meant that he was in my eye-line if I looked up from my screen, but that was fine with me. I did find myself staring at his profile more than once, but mainly I was able to work. We were doing a complicated job and it needed concentration; Oakley’s a fast learner though, and after only an hour or so of tedious but important data-logging and spread sheets I found myself on the receiving end of some burning-hot looks.

_This not-speaking, not-touching thing only works up to a point_

I should have guessed he’d find a way to circumnavigate my rules. But it was OK. Like I said, just knowing he was on the planet made me want him _all the time,_ so the searing glances only ratcheted things up a little.

_Looks like I am in for the weekend of MY LIFE_

Finally the clock dragged itself round to the end of the working day and we could set off along the river back to mine. We didn’t leave separately – what would be the point? If anyone saw us we just looked like friends and colleagues taking a pleasant stroll through the park together. Of course, if they could hear the things he was saying – not quite _sotto voce_ enough for my taste – they would have wondered, but fortunately they could not.

The park that skirts the river was full of people and dogs, many chasing balls of various sizes, some just enjoying the Friday afternoon sunshine; I relished its warmth on my stiff neck and arms. I might have to up my activity at the gym if this was going to continue for any length of time… I walked beside Oakley; a spring in my step that I would have believed was long gone. He drew admiring glances from some women we passed, and not a few men. I wanted to shout ‘I’M GETTING SOME OF THAT!’ but of course I didn’t. And anyway, who would believe it? Such a beautiful boy, so sexy and free, hooking up with dowdy, dull, _old_ me? Nah.

As we neared my block I felt the atmosphere between us change: his excitement was tangible. His fingertips brushed over the back of my hand as we walked up the path to the doors; as I keyed in the code his breath was burning on my neck; he crossed the lobby at a near-run. As soon as the lift door closed he was on me, our mouths crashing together and his hands inside my thin shirt. When the soft ding heralded our arrival on my floor he pulled me up the corridor.

‘Christ Connie, I need you so bad… I thought the day was going on forever!’

Once inside the flat I shoved him against the wall and tugged at his clothing. ‘Probably shouldn’t have spent the day teasing and eye-fucking me then-‘

He shut me up easily enough with his mouth. Soon we were both mostly naked and I was yelling his name yet again as he took me from behind over the arm of my sofa. He whispered in my ear as he leaned over, hot breath washing my neck.

‘You loved it, admit it. You can’t get enough of me.’

I laughed. ‘Seems mutual to me.’

His fingers squeezed my clit, making me buck and gasp as he increased his own pace until he came, burying himself as deep inside me as he could, my name on his lips. He collapsed over my back and I welcomed his weight and the way our sweat mingled as it slowly dried in the breeze from the open window.

‘Fuck, Connie. That was so fucking hot!’ His lips sucked softly on my neck as he stood up, lifting me with him. His fingers ran lightly over my breasts and tummy before I was pulled against him again and he spoke softly into my hair. ‘I guess a whole day of foreplay does the trick _really well_ , eheheheh… I think we should do it again on Monday.’

I turned in his arms, shoving at his chest and glaring, ready to lay into him. _That was NOT HAPPENING._ Apart from anything else, I doubted my nerves could take another day like this one.

But then I saw his face.

He was playing with me again, yes, but the look in his eyes told a slightly different story. I feared it was just my wishful thinking, but I saw no sign of mischief in them, just my own feelings reflected back. His hand reached up and caressed my cheek as the smile changed from smirk to sweetness. This boy, this _man_ was going to be the death of me…

So I didn’t punch him, as I intended.

I kissed him instead.


	5. Most Accidents Happen in the Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the weekend, and going at it like rabbits is starting to take its toll on Connie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the self-reference in this, but as Connie and Theresa are from the same town, and Arthur is based on my friend who worked with me at the real College I based the one in these stories on…I HAD TO.

Bliss.

It was Saturday. No deadline, no need to drag myself to the bathroom before I wanted to get up, no keeping one eye on the clock. But the real bliss was not the lack of work. Bliss was the warm, firm, strong body pressing up against mine. Bliss was the pair of soft lips on my shoulder. Bliss was that hot, hard cock pushing against my arse urgently.

Oakley.

Always so eager. Always so ready.

“Mmmm, Connie.” His voice sounded foggy and thick with sleep, but one hand was moving stealthily down my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I wriggled little, luxuriating in what I could feel of him. The firm muscles of his torso, the tickling of his pubic hair on my bum, the power of his arms around me; the smell of him, of us.

Of sex.

“Good morning, Oaks. Did you sleep well?” I reached back over my shoulder and tangled my fingers in his floofy blond curls.

“Once you finally left me alone, yes.” His low chuckle reverberated through me. He was insatiable; he was irresistible. I wanted to devour him; while it lasted.

I rolled over and looked at his lovely face, lit to perfection by the bright sunshine of a July morning filtering through the curtains. I still didn’t really understand why he had chosen to focus on me; not just to fuck me, but to spend two nights talking, laughing, cooking and eating with a woman twice his age. He was just _gorgeous_ , and surely he could have his pick, but nevertheless, here he was. In _my_ bed.

I saw his tongue dart across his lower lip and then this mouth was crushing mine. His hand slid up my inner thigh and the tips of his fingers brushed my folds. I sighed, feeling the rush of blood and moisture to my core. Oakley had the magic touch; of that there was no doubt. Grinning against my lips, he pushed one long finger into my cunt, making me arch my back to press back against his hand.

“You want more, Con?” He shook his head. “Insatiable.”

I could feel his cock on my leg, the end wet with pre-come, the great length of it solid with his own arousal. “Shut up and fuck me.”

It was madness of course. It _was_ bliss, utterly fabulous, the experience of a lifetime, and it could not possibly last. He was just twenty - half my age, and beautiful with it, his whole life ahead of him. The trouble was, I had come to realise that despite all my common sense telling me not to, I was falling in love with him. I was hooked. Entranced. His body and his face and the fabulous, _fabulous_ sex were intoxicating, but there was more. Somewhere in there lurked something; some damage, some sadness. He had wit and intelligence, thoughtfulness and compassion. He was mesmerizing and intriguing.

It wasn’t long before he was shouting my name and swearing. I was sore, and rather bruised where his firm thrusts had made his pelvis collide with my seat, and I definitely wouldn’t be going in for any cycling this weekend. But the pain was totally cancelled out by the pleasure, and by the simple joy of being with him. I felt him filling me, his big cock stroking my g-spot, his large hands squeezing my boobs and tweaking my nipples and I just let it sweep all the discomfort and worry away.

Half an hour later I was setting up the coffee maker while Oakley sang tunelessly in the shower. I put bread in the toaster, laid the table for breakfast and then sat down _very carefully,_ just as he appeared in a towel, leaning in the doorway, grinning.

“Bit tender, are we?” I glared at him as he sniggered and walked over, taking the chair opposite mine. “Actually,” he glanced down at his lap,  “little Oaks is a tad sore too. Not used to _quite_ so much, er, activity.”

I looked at him over the rim of my mug, watching as he slathered butter on his toast and took a healthy bite. “Maybe we should have a little hiatus? Let things settle…?”  I was not sure I meant it. His face was a picture.

“What? No! I mean…”he seemed to have second thoughts, “…if you don’t want to, of course, but-”

“Oakley, love, listen. I just meant could we spend the day doing _something else_ together? A very _short_ break.”

He shrugged his shoulders, laughed in that funny sniggering way of his and nodded. “Excellent idea.”

Being Saturday, I had my housework to do, and Oakley helped, after a fashion. He dusted a bit, and he cleaned the bathroom surprisingly well. I suppose his parents made him do a few chores growing up. _Good lord, his parents could be my age_. By lunchtime there were two loads of laundry on the communal lines downstairs, clean linen on the bed and the flat smelt fresh and looked tidy. As we headed out to find something for a picnic in Castle Park, I wondered how he wanted to play us being together on public. He had been pretty affectionate on Friday, but reasonably discreet. I was a little taken aback when he wrapped one long arm around my shoulder as we walked up towards the High Street. The pavements were crowded with weekend shoppers and the continuing warm weather had brought them out in droves. We weaved our way through, Oakley drawing a few admiring glances. Every so often he kissed my temple or brought my hand to his lips.

“Not embarrassed to be seen with an old lady, Oaks?”

“Old? Who?” I punched him playfully. “Why would I be embarrassed? Look at that bloke over there,” he pointed to a youngish man standing on the corner by the Town Hall with a kid in a pushchair and a collection of shopping bags at his feet, “he’s ogling you. And that one,” he nodded at an older man outside Mann’s Music who was definitely staring, “he hates me, I can tell. Jealous as fuck.” He grinned happily. “Embarrassed? Nah. _Proud_.”

By the time we reached the doors of Marks and Spencer I was blushing, partly from his sweet compliments, but also from the fairly filthy things he kept whispering to me that he had planned for later. I saw one or two people I knew in the food hall, but no close friends. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Armed with a selection of Marksies’ finest we headed back down the hill to Upper Castle Park and found a spot under a tree to eat. I marvelled at the youth of Oakley as it contrasted with the ancient Norman keep behind us. The sun was making his golden curls glow, and his eyes looked extra blue, reflecting the summer sky above us. I could smell the warm skin on his neck and shoulder as he leaned against me. I looked down at our legs: his long and honey-coloured where they extended from his cargo shorts; mine shorter, paler below my cropped jeans. I fought the urge to kiss him, to press him into the grass and ride him right there. He had awakened such a hunger in me, one I did not know I possessed.

The object of my desire seemed unaware of my struggle. “What d’ya wanna do after this?” he asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

“I wouldn’t mind a look at Castle Books, if that’s OK with you.”

“Oh, I LOVE that place. Yeah!”

So it was that ten minutes later the bell on the door jangled as we stepped down into the low-ceilinged treasure-trove that is my friend Arthur’s second-hand bookshop. I nodded to Theresa, his assistant, who did a bit of a double take when she took in Oakley behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. She smiled broadly. I like her a lot; her boss loves her, and her little girl, and I know he is a very good judge of character.

“Art’s in Poetry – appropriately enough.” She laughed at her own joke and turned back to her task at the computer.

Oakley leaned down so his mouth was near my left ear. “I should tell you that I know him. I was at school with his son, Will.”

_Oh great. So he’ll know EXACTLY how much younger than me you are_

Trying to play it cool, I shrugged and walked through to the adjoining room, Oakley following on those ridiculously long legs, stooping to pass under the low lintel. Arthur was standing by a shelf with half a dozen books cradled in his arms. He was of a height with Oakley, and as slim, but with close-cropped grey hair around a shiny bald pate. His face, however, retained a youthful charm that belied his sixty years. He smiled broadly, brown eyes sparkling when he saw me.

“Connie! Hi! It’s been a while. And who’s this… _Tom_?”

“Good afternoon, Mr Watson.” Oakley was charm personified. Well-brought up, clearly. Knows how to speak to a classmate’s dad. He stood there, calm, completely unabashed. Arthur looked at me, then at him, then at the way Oakley’s hand was once again resting on my shoulder proprietorially. He put the books down, kissed me on the cheek and shook Oakley’s hand, patting him on the back.

“So, Connie, what are you after today?”

_Nicely played, Arthur._

I should explain that before he took early retirement and took over Castle Books, Arthur taught in the English Department at College, as well as being a published poet. We became good pals quite quickly when I joined the staff, and had stayed that way. He knew my situation, and had always been a kind and supportive friend, but I was mildly concerned, nonetheless. If I were the parent of one of Oakley’s contemporaries I might take a less sanguine view of his liaison with a woman of my age.

It soon became apparent that my fears were unfounded. Once we had both told Art we were just browsing, Oakley wandered into the mythology section and Arthur cornered me in American Literature.

“It’s none of my business, Con, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I have never seen that boy looking happier. Whatever it is you’re doing,” he paused for effect. He was a teacher, and a bloody good one, “ keep doing it. He’s a good lad, under the bluster. And his father is a total arse.”

I stared at Art. I’d never heard him talk like that about anyone. “Well,” I coughed, blushing and not really sure how to respond, “he and I are working together at the moment – he’s the summer temp in the office. We hit it off, as _friends,_ I mean, but then one day… It can’t last, of course.” I turned my head to gaze at him across the shop, his beautiful sexy mouth pursed in concentration as he read the book he was holding. “Look, I know it’s a bit… _cougarish_ of me, but he is… He is lovely, caring, and fun. I feel ten years younger, Art!”

“Good for you, good for him: where’s the harm, darling?”

I hugged him tightly. He always knew what to say – English Lit degree, that must be it. Oh, and a good soul.

We spent an hour altogether in the shop. I bought two books – _Walt Whitman, The Complete Poems_ and Judi Dench’s book of photos, _Scenes from a Life._ Oaks spent most of his time in the poetry section in the end, emerging with a battered volume of Anglo-Saxon poems and a lovely edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets. We wandered back home slowly, via a couple more shops including the bakery where I picked up some croissants for the next morning.

“So, what shall we do tonight?” His eyebrows were waggling suggestively as I mixed us some long cold drinks to have on the balcony.

“Well, I thought perhaps a Thai takeaway and a film. If that suits you?” He nodded happily, and headed over to the shelves where I kept my collection. I took the drinks out and sat down on the chair, lowering myself gently onto the cushion I had placed there. He joined me, putting a few DVDs on the table.

“Still uncomfortable?” He reached his hand over and squeezed mine. “Sorry about that.” This time he looked as if he meant it.

“I think I’m a bit bruised. It’s been a very long time since I had this much sex, and I never had quite such an energetic lover before in my life.” He blushed sweetly. Even he was capable of that on occasion.

I looked through the films he had short-listed and we agreed on a French comedy, _Tais Toi!_ We sat in companionable silence for a while, looking down at the comings and goings below us: at the river, a silver ribbon in the afternoon sun, weaving through the trees; at the corner of the park, dotted with people and dogs. I gazed over at the communal area and suddenly remembered my washing. Swearing under my breath, I began to get up but Oakley had followed my eyes and leapt from his chair.

“I’ll get it. Stay there.”

While he was gone I dragged myself up and fetched the menu from _Thai 1_ , and once he had returned with everything neatly folded – “You’ll make someone a lovely wife one day, Oaks…” – I ordered. My usual – _Thai I Gung Pao_ (char-grilled prawns), followed by _Gaeng Masaman Neua_ (beef Muslim curry). Oaks went for Satay chicken followed by _Plaa Mook Plat Prik_ (which he chose because he couldn’t get past the name. It’s actually squid.) and it all arrived in thirty minutes.

Dinner was fun. We sat in front of the TV and shared our food, washing it down with beer. Depardieu and Jean Reno had us crying with laughter, especially the bit where they have to dress in the jockey and his wife’s clothes. I love that film. Gérard plays the moron really well… _or is he really a genius_ …? Oakley’s big hand was on my thigh, moving gently between my knees and my hip. I knew we were both thinking the same thoughts, wanting each other. I was still sitting on a cushion. The aches and strains in my joints, muscles and tendons were bearable, and easing, as was the soreness in my fanny, but the bruises under my seat just would not stop hurting. He watched me trying to get comfy again after a trip to the loo.

“You know, we don’t _have to,_ Con. If it really hurts.” He had his ‘little boy being brave’ face on.

“Oh darling, I can think of things we can do.” I gave him what I hoped was a smouldering look. “Are you feeling OK now? I mean, Little Oaks: is he all better?” I wondered for a second if I had really said that.

“Oh yes,” he said, pulling me into a brief but passionate kiss. “100%, firing on all cylinders.”

I glanced down at the police truncheon that was pushing against my leg. “So I see.”

I slid off the sofa onto my knees and tugged at his shorts. Of course he was bare underneath – randy little shit – and not-so-Little Oaks sprang up and almost had my eye out. I wrapped one hand slowly around him and licked the head, lingering on the sensitive underside. He groaned loudly, swore a bit, and wriggled until I squeezed tighter, then he seemed to surrender to me. I stroked his balls, I licked and sucked and he moaned and whimpered. I wanted to make this all about him, but I could feel him getting restless after a few minutes. Eventually he gently pulled me off.

“Take your top off, Con.” His voice was deep and thick with lust. “ I need to see your tits.”

I did as he asked, and as I turned back to him he shuffled forward on the seat and caught my head with his hands. “Can I come on them? I’ve always wanted… Please?”

I nodded, smiling and took my bra off as well. I was in no state for more of his vigorous rutting, so of course he could, if that pleased him. He took himself in hand – I was sure he wasn’t far off by then – and his eyes closed as he worked himself hard. With a great groan he came, gouts of semen spraying on me. His eyes were wide now, watching it, his tongue between his teeth, his jaw working. He looked so lost in the moment and so beautiful. I loved to watch him come, his eyes focussed but distant at the same time, concentrating on his pleasure. This was the best yet.

We stayed where we were for a few minutes while he recovered – his hands moving from my shoulders to the back of my neck, me kneeling between his legs. His eyes never left my face, intensely staring. I felt as if he was looking into my soul. I was unable to look away but it did not feel uncomfortable. Eventually he relented, leaning back a little and I got to my feet.

“Let me clean you up, Con.” He led me to the bathroom, ran a basin of warm water and gently wiped away the remains of his orgasm with a cloth. I couldn’t say a word, still feeling profoundly moved by the way he had looked at me. He dried me carefully, then kissed my boobs lovingly. It was sweet and affectionate and I wanted to cry. I turned away, not wanting to spoil the moment but he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a close embrace, his lips ghosting over my face.

“Can I do anything else for you, my love? Something that won’t hurt?”

I hesitated. I was feeling much better, but I doubted I could bear any more pressure on those bruises. “Maybe a little, but no actual fucking, I’m afraid.”

He made me squeal loudly by scooping me up and carrying me to the bedroom, both of us giggling wildly. I was still wearing my shorts and knickers, and as he pulled them off me he gasped.

“Fuuucckk Connie! Did I do that?”

I looked over at my dressing-table mirror at the bottom of the bed: I had two dark red, almost purple marks, one under each of my seat-bones. They looked angry; Oakley looked crestfallen. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a voice just above a whisper, “I had no idea.”

I sat up and put my hand on his arm. “Darling, it’s fine. _I’ll be fine_. It’s just that I’ve been fucked more in the last three or four days than in the last ten years!”

“Is there something we can put on them?”

I thought for a moment. “I think there’s some arnica cream in the bathroom cabinet.” He fetched it, made me turn on my belly with a pillow under my hips, and very gently massaged the healing salve in. The sensation of that, coupled with the mental image of him looking at me, not to mention his hot breath on my sex had me wet and desperate in minutes. I felt one long finger teasing my slit.

“Oh, what have we here? Would you like something else?”

“God, Oaks, PLEASE!”

He spread my knees a little further, then his tongue was flat on my clit. I moaned as he drew it slowly, lingeringly upwards. He moaned into me softly, and the vibration sent thrills of pleasure everywhere. Then he began in earnest: he licked, he sucked, I writhed and he held me firmly but gently, keeping me steady as he worked his magic. I bit the pillow under my head to stop myself from screaming when his fingers slid inside me and tapped on my g-spot. Relentlessly, he drove me to orgasm after orgasm, making me forget the pain and think only of him, and of his tongue and fingers.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I knew was the smell of warming croissants and the morning sun on my arm.

“Oaks?”

He called back from the kitchen. “Stay there!”

A short while later, after some clattering and muffled swearing, he appeared in the doorway with a tray. He had made me breakfast in bed. No man ever made me breakfast in bed, not so much as a slice of toast, and there he was, with pastries, jam, coffee and orange juice. And when I had sat up and the tray was safely on my knees, he produced something else.

“I wanted you to have this. I know you love them.”

It was the sonnets, the book he had bought from Arthur the day before. “Oh darling, this is too much. You don’t have to-“

“Shhh, Connie. I want you to have it. I bought it for you.” He hesitated, and all at once the arrogance of youth, all the Oxbridge confidence, all the assurance of a lifelong flirt was gone. He lifted a hand to my cheek and kissed me softly, very briefly. His eyes fixed on mine again as they had the night before.

“ I love you, Con.”


	6. In Case of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Sunday morning. Oakley and Connie have spent a sexy weekend together, but the reality of the wider world is about to intrude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is mostly feels, there aren’t really any jokes this time. They will be back in the next instalment, rest assured.

I love summer Sundays. Work has never been too intense, and so my weekends at that time of year tend to be less _recover-from-the-week-and-get-over-that-migraine_ and more _relax-and-enjoy…_ And boy, was that the case this particular summer Sunday.

I turned my head to the left: there he was. I smiled, but only for a moment. My delicious cougar morsel seemed troubled. We were driving north in my little FIAT 500, out of town and into the Essex countryside. I had arranged to visit my friend and colleague Val, who was at home recovering from her operation, and as she lived in the next-door village to Oakley’s, I was dropping him off at home, en route. He had protested, but I had insisted. Val wouldn’t want him there if she felt the need to give me all the gory details of her surgery (and she would, I knew her well enough). Besides, there was no denying he was in need of a change of clothes, and I thought he should at least check in with his parents.

Not that he had talked to me about them – not _ever_ , now I thought about it. All I knew was that his father was ‘an arse’, according to my friend Arthur. As we drove up the narrow lanes towards the address he had given me, Oakley became more tense and fidgety. His hand, which had been resting companionably on my thigh, began to grip, at first just lightly, but tighter and tighter. I glanced at his face – he was obviously anxious and unaware that he was squeezing my flesh uncomfortably. I took one hand off the wheel and released my leg.

“Oh! Shit… sorry… Was I hurting you, Connie?”

“A little.” I smiled encouragingly. “Is every thing OK, Oaks?”

He sighed, looking down at his feet. “Yeah.” _Obviously not._ “It’s just, well…we’ve had such a great few days, and I don’t… Home just… well, it’s not _great_ , you know?”

His eyes met mine and I could see nothing there: none of the joy and mischief I was used to. He seemed… _absent_. There was a bus stop just ahead and I pulled over, safe in the knowledge that there was no prospect of any public transport out that way on a Sunday. I killed the engine and took his hands in mine. It was a quiet spot – the only sounds apart from the ticking of the cooling engine were from the birds in the high hedge beside us, twittering and squabbling.

“D’you want to talk about it, darling?” His jaw was tight, and, all of a sudden, he looked ten years younger. A shake of the head, then he leaned over and kissed me passionately, deeply. Obviously he wasn’t going to tell me now, so I swatted his hand away from where it was investigating the flesh near my waistband and turned away to start the car again.

“Connie?”

His voice sounded small. “Yes, my love?”

“Can I come back to yours again later?”

I had given him my spare key. I thought that made it pretty clear, but he seemed in need of reassurance. “Of course. I can pick you up after I’ve seen Val, if you’d like.”

He nodded, smiling, although it was a pale imitation of his usual broad grin. “Can you meet me outside the _Co-op_? You know, near the church? I need to get a couple of things.”

We set a time for our rendezvous and set off again, continuing down the narrow leafy lane. Oakley asked me to stop on a steep hill by a high brick wall, just short of the gates to a large half-timbered house (an actual old one, not repro: the real McCoy). I could see CCTV cameras and an intercom. There was money there, for sure. He kissed my cheek and jumped out, grabbing his bag from the back seat and waited for me to drive off before he moved. I watched the rear view mirror as I pulled away and saw a tall man step through a side gate and confront him, arms waving. His father, I assumed, or stepfather, whatever. As I said, we had never spoken about his family and it hadn’t struck me as odd until today. I slowed, considered turning around and intervening, but something told me that was a bad idea.

It was only a very short drive to Val’s more modest abode in a quiet cul-de-sac in the next village. Her husband Laurie let me in and clucked around like a mother hen, making tea and putting out Mr Kipling cakes. He had to ask for instructions a couple of times during the process, obviously unused to domestic matters.

“Oh, ignore him,” Val said once we were alone, her eyes rolling. “He’s better with a chisel or a screwdriver, but he’s trying, bless ‘im. Fortunately, I filled the freezer before I went in or we’d be living on beans on toast and takeaways.”

She looked good, if a little pale. She had been in pain and quite unwell on and off for a couple of years, and this operation was supposed to be the answer. She told me she felt happy with the outcome, so far. Mostly what she wanted from me was all the gossip from work, not that I had much. Of course, I knew what she was _really_ itching to hear about, but I wasn’t about to make it easy for her – we don’t have that kind of a relationship. We tease each other, joke, make sarcastic remarks. If she wanted the goods on Oaks and me, she was going to have to ask me outright. Not to mention my, well… not _embarrassment_ , but distinct awkwardness about the whole thing. Eventually, after a few minutes of beating around the bush, I saw her narrow her eyes and smirk.

“You’re looking very, er, _flushed_ , Connie. Something you’d like to share?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Val.” I was unable to meet her gaze, however.

“ _Connie_ …” I felt the blush rising up my face and heard Val gasp. “You HAVEN’T!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I said, unconvincingly.

She put her cup down and turned, moving her body carefully, to face me full on. Reluctantly, I raised my eyes. Her face was kind. “Oakley? You and he have…?”

I nodded. She clapped her hands. “I _knew_ it! I saw they way he kept looking at you, when he thought nobody else could see…practically drooling. And you, of course, wiggling on your chair… Good for you, girl!”

“But he’s so _young_ , Val.”

My friend shrugged. “So what? Laurie is fifteen years younger than me.” I gaped – I had no idea. She grinned and winked. “Nothing like it, especially at your age.”

I didn’t tell her everything – that would have been unfair on Oaks – but I did confirm that ours was an on-going relationship, and, bless her, she cheered me on. After a lovely couple of hours, I took my leave and drove back to find Oakley. This was the longest we had been apart since Thursday morning, and I ached for him. For his touch, his scent, the sight of his face and the warmth of his body. When I spotted him, hunched on the bench outside the little supermarket, a bag-for-life at his feet, his overnight bag beside him, my heart clenched. If I had doubted it before, I knew it for sure at that moment.

I loved him.

I loved him more as I took in his posture and expression. He was smoking, something I was aware he did, although he hadn’t at all since we’d been together (I’d know, I can smell it a mile off). When he said things at home weren’t good, I had assumed he meant the usual teen-angst troubles, the kind I had, that most people have, even with loving parents. In my case, we got through them, and I never felt less than loved (well, only very rarely). But the figure I was looking at seemed, well, _broken_ wouldn’t be an exaggeration. He must have heard the car, because he looked up and was transformed. The old swagger was back as he stood, suddenly confident and oozing sex.

“Get in then!” I shouted through the open window. He stamped on his fag and opened the car door, tossing his bag onto the back seat and placing the carrier carefully in the rear foot well. Then he folded that delicious, lean body into the seat bedside me. Before I could put the car in gear his hand closed over mine on the lever and he kissed me, long and deep. He growled a little into my mouth and I never needed him more than at that moment, smoky taste or not. When at last he released me, I looked into his eyes, which seemed to be searching mine.

“You OK, love?”

That sweet half-smile again – heart-meltingly, knicker-dissolvingly appealing. “I am _now_.”

The drive back was torture, of the Oakley-generated variety, that is. I filled him in on Val’s progress, but as he offered nothing about his own visit in return, I decided against probing for more. I wanted him to tell me when he was ready, and I guessed that meant making sure he felt secure enough. Instead, I allowed him to tease me, much as he had on Friday. Fingertips played on the skin of my knees, occasionally venturing a little way under my skirt. Burning hot glances blazed across the car, steaming up the windows and taking in my face, my neck, my boobs and legs. Soft, warm lips brushed my bare shoulder and the back of my hand at traffic lights… I had to wriggle in my seat more than once. Val would have laughed.

“Uncomfortable again, darling?”

I fixed his falsely innocent face with a hard stare. “Shut up, you tease, and stop it. I’m driving.”

“Eheheheh.” That odd, strangely sexy laugh, that hot wet tongue flicking. I nearly pulled over and jumped him, right there and then, on the inner bypass, but as we were less than a minute from home, I managed to hang on.

The flat was hot and stuffy, so I fought Oakley off long enough to open a few windows. When I turned around he was standing close behind me. I took him in: a blond halo backlit by the kitchen window; the slopes of his cheekbones highlighted by the shadows on his face; blue eyes blazing with passion. His tanned body was barely hidden by his singlet and baggy shorts, the latter tenting obscenely. His face had a look of desperation and I know I was awash with it.

“So, Oakley, are you going to fuck me or what?”

One stride and his hands were on me, his lips too, kissing me so hard and deep it felt as if he wanted to absorb me. I scrabbled for the hem of his top, my hips canting against him in a search for friction. I could feel his heart pounding, see the pulse in his long neck. I sucked on the spot, drawing a loud moan from him. He was making a lot of noise, but nothing intelligible. I wanted to help him. I loved him, and this was the relief he needed at this moment.

I needed it too.

His hands found my arse, mine his neck, and I felt myself being lifted up against him and carried into the bedroom. We fell onto the bed together, his mouth still on me. His breathing was rapid, the sounds coming from him getting more urgent as he tore at my clothes. There was no ceremony; this was basic, primal, even by Oakley’s standards. No time even for a condom, not that I was worried about that anymore. He had to be inside me, and lord knows, I wanted him there. I watched his face as he entered me, hot and hard and fast. His eyes rolled shut and his mouth hung upon.

He was still for a long moment, losing himself in the sensations, perhaps. Then my muscles clenched around him involuntarily and his hips gave a little jerk, making it my turn to moan. He filled me completely and I was aware of every millimetre of his hardness. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, nibbled and licked his shoulder and neck and he began to move. This was not going to be gentle, I knew that already, and I braced myself for the full onslaught of all his power and energy. I was prepared: my bruises had healed, more or less, and in any case, I was past caring. His mouth met mine again, sucking, biting my lip and massaging my tongue with his, all the while, as his body pounded into mine.

For once, he seemed not to be bothered about my orgasm, and that was OK. This time it was all about him, his needs, and I wanted it that way. Of course, nonetheless I was getting close – who wouldn’t with him to look at, to feel, that incredible cock – but I didn’t feel the need for that release as much as I needed his. His movements began to get more uneven and he arched his neck. With a great groan, I felt him begin to come inside me, thrusting harder and further and then he was still.

We stayed there, hot but cooling, damp but drying, on top of the bed. I said nothing, letting him come down and reflect on whatever had driven him to such a state. I held on tight as he lay over me, happy to feel the weight of him. I loved his breath against my neck. I nuzzled his curls.

“Con?” His voice was muffled against my shoulder.

“Yes, my love?”

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Angry-fucking you. It’s not your fault.”

I wanted him to look at me, but his face stayed stubbornly turned away, buried in my flesh. “Oaks.”

“Wot?” Still he remained with his head on my right boob. I quite liked it.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Connie. I… I can’t. Not now. Maybe later.” He sighed, and the sad sound of it made me want to cry. I tried again to get him to lift his head, and this time succeeded. I kissed his beautiful forehead, tracing his hairline, nuzzling the skin near his eyes. I let my lips brush over his eyelids, and my tongue licked the tip of his nose. I felt his cock twitch against my leg and he growled a little, way back in his throat. Oh, the joys of a young lover!

“I owe you something.” His voice was low, almost menacing. It made me feel faint – I think all my blood went south again. Where it was needed. He slid down the bed like a cat, silent and with a predatory look that made my stomach flip. Hot breath blasted over my belly and when he reached my mound he growled again, louder, and he inhaled deeply.

“God, I love the smell of you, when you want me. It’s the best, Con. You’re the best.”

Before I could respond, his tongue gave me a long, lazy lick.

“You taste great, too.” His eyes were closed in ecstasy, and then mine were as he licked again, harder, making my hips buck. In our few days together (was that all it was? It felt like years), he had learned so much about what I liked, what drove me wild, what he could do to make the build-up slow and so very, very good that the orgasm, when it came at last, destroyed me. He knew how to touch me, where to go, how to ease back and draw it out, when to press harder, go faster; he wanted to do it for me, and it was the best I ever had.

I think I passed out for a moment. I may have; I know I saw stars, screamed and laughed and cried because when your body feels like that you don’t know what else to do…

I woke up with his arm across my face, my nose in his armpit. No, really, it was _über_ sexy, actually. But not _overly_ comfy. I slid out from under him, put my dressing gown on and went for a pee.  Then I put the kettle on (I am _so_ English). As I stood, looking out of the window while it boiled, I heard his bare feet on the tiles behind me and felt his arms slide around my waist. He rested his cheek against mine.

“You OK, Con?”

“Asks the man who just gave me the best orgasm OF. MY. LIFE… Am I _OK_? Fuck…”

I felt him grin. “Really?”

I turned to look up into his face. “Oh don’t give me that – you know it, Casanova.” More grinning. “Jeez, I’m amazed I can walk, to be frank.”

He kissed me sweetly, and I made the tea while he unpacked his shopping, which included some snacks and a little posy of carnations. I found him a vase and he put them on the table. We sat in the sunshine on the balcony and had our drinks, one of his hands stroking my foot as it rested on his lap. His gaze roved over the view: the park and the river, the road just visible through the plane trees. He was wrestling with something and I allowed him the time and space. We discussed going out for dinner, just to the pub, and then I allowed the silence to settle over us again. It felt good, this quiet: productive, the physical contact between us anchoring him and comforting me.

We must have sat there for an hour before I shivered – the sun had begun to go down and I was naked under the thin fabric of my robe.

“I’d better get dressed if we’re going out.” I gave him a long slow look, head to toe: bare feet, honey-toned legs under crumpled cargo shorts, beautiful tanned torso, hairless but for a few strays over his sternum and some soft golden ones near his nipples (I love those), and that Botticelli angel’s head. I smiled – you can’t help it, he’s so lovely to look at – and stood up.

“You too, gorgeous. I don’t think they approve of toplessness in the Toby Carvery. You might kill off a few grannies.”

In the short walk to the bedroom I decided I ought to shower, too, so allowing my robe to slide off, I headed that way. As I stepped under the flow I became aware I was not alone.

Ever since he came into my life, only a couple of weeks ago, Oakley had been driving me mad with desire. I wanted him, from that very first moment when he appeared in the office doorway, shimmering with youth and sex. His flirting, wit, intelligence and charm only added to my need for him. The reality of our intimacy had been better than any fantasy. But that day, in the shower…

Wordlessly, Oakley had joined me in the cubicle. He kissed my neck and manoeuvred himself into the space behind me. I leaned my head back to wet my hair and he reached for my shampoo. With gentle movements he massaged my head, rinsed, washed again and conditioned, even combing it through like a professional. In between each action my shoulders, arms and hands were kissed and caressed. Hair finished, he lathered up my puff and washed me. Soft strokes, burning glances, lips brushing my flesh as he worked. Then I did the same for him. When we were both clean, we stepped out and dried each other.

It was how it had been when he had washed me the night before, but more so. Nothing we did was overtly sexual, but everything was utterly sensual and affectionate. My core still tingled from the incredible orgasm he had given me, but this was a deeper, more emotional, more intimate experience. We dressed, still not speaking, but communicating, nonetheless. There would be no pub supper: this was not the time for being in a crowd. I led him into the sitting room and we sat on the sofa. Oakley leaned back and I snuggled against him. It was warm, but there was a cooling wind from outside. I laced my fingers between his.

Time passed, the space as still and quiet as it had been on the balcony. Then, at last, he began to talk.

“I hate my Dad, Con.” I took a breath, ready to speak. “No, I do. He never lets me forget how much money I have cost him, even though I never asked to go to that fucking school, or for anything much.” I looked up. His face was strained and stiff.  “He’s a control freak. He wants me to do what he wants all the time, and I won’t, not anymore. So nothing is ever good enough, everything I do is wrong. Everything about me pisses him off, gives him an excuse to have a go. I’d rather live with my Mum, but her new bloke doesn’t want me, so I’m stuck there with Miseryguts.”

“Oh darling-“

“It’s OK, normally, I’m used to it. It’s not too bad in term-time, because I just stay in Cambridge, and last year I went away for most of the summer. I’ll be able to leave altogether, next year after finals, get a job and a place of my own, as far away from him as possible…”

I squeezed his hand, lifted it to my lips.

“Being here with you, Con, it’s made me realise how bad it is when I’m there, I s’pose.” A great sigh shuddered through his body. I nuzzled his neck, breathed him in. He could be snarky and annoying, but no more than any others of his age. Rebellion is normal. And surely _his own father_ …? But then, I was not a parent, and I knew nothing about the man or his situation, so I should not judge. What I _could_ do was hold the other man in this, the one who was in front of me: the bright, funny, loving man I had come to adore. We stayed like that, me leaning against his firm, long body with my arms wrapped around his slim waist, our breathing in synch, the breeze from the balcony door blowing over us, for some time. Eventually I began to feel hungry, and I heard his tummy rumble. I sat up.

“Peckish? I think there’s a pepperoni pizza in the freezer…”

“Yum.” He paused, and the air was heavy between us. “Connie?”

“Yes, darling?” He looked about twelve, and I thought I knew what he was going to ask. I had not told him yet – was this to be the moment?

“Is there any beer left?”


	7. Hard Hat Area

On the screen, Captain America was awake, or defrosted, however you want to put it. All but one lonely slice of pizza was gone and there were four empty Stella bottles on the table. The room was getting dark and cooling, as the sun had more or less set. We were on the sofa, Oaks lying behind me, both of us on our sides. His long arms were around my body, comfortably holding it against his. I had never felt safer; I had never felt happier.

In just a few days, Thomas Oakley and I had gone from being new friends and colleagues (this in spite of a twenty-year age gap), through what I had initially assumed was going to be just fuck-buddies to being something more like lovers, because now we were… _what were we, exactly_? The long warm Sunday that was almost over had seen a distinct shift in the atmosphere between us. Wednesday and Thursday’s mad lust had morphed into something deeper. I took a deep breath and felt him settle against me. His scent - cedarwood, sweat, a hint of smoke, garlic and tomato - filled my head. He nuzzled my hair and sighed.

“Con.”

“Oaks.”

“You OK?”

“Never better. You?”

“Same.”

Exhausted by this sparkling discourse we were quiet again for a few minutes, until the end credits of the movie began to roll. I stretched my aching muscles and tried to sit up. Oakley held on tight.

“Where are you going?”

“I was just gonna clear up, have a pee, you know-”

“But I want you to stay here.”

“Can’t I even have a piss?”

He pouted over my shoulder. “If you _must._ ”

“It’s that or kidney failure.”

Freed at last, I gathered up the dirties from the table and took them into the kitchen on my way to the bathroom. When I returned he had switched off the TV and was waiting, back in the same position on the couch, his arms akimbo in invitation. He shimmered in the fading yellow light that was filling the room; the blue of his eyes, the gold of his skin, his bare chest glistening. His lovely face was calmer now, the anger and pain of his visit home having abated thanks to an evening of beer and cuddles. I tried to ignore the green camo shorts he had put on after our shower, which although hideous, were at least soft to lean against. His youthful beauty stole my breath for a moment as I took in the fact that he was _here. With me_. I tried to lie down facing him, but he shook his head.

“Uh-uh. Like before.”

I shrugged and complied; he clearly had something planned. As I settled on the cushions I felt a warm hand working its way inside my jogging bottoms.

“ _Oakley_ …

Hot lips, then a flicking tongue made contact with my neck and I could not stifle the moan that rose unbidden. “Shhhhhh…”

Once again I was carried off on a tide of desire as his breath washed over me and his fingers began to work their magic. Sparks of pleasure, great rushes of longing, warm feelings of love all surged in me as he studiously, determinedly brought me to orgasm, stifling my cries with deep kisses. It was so loving, so giving, so perfect, that I got carried away. As I came back to myself I murmured.

“Oh my darling, I love you.”

_Fuck_

It was true, of course, but I wanted to tell him in a more romantic way. I didn't want it just slipping out in a post-coital haze. I nearly clapped my hand over my mouth, but Oakley seemed unperturbed and simply nuzzled my neck a bit more, humming deliciously against my skin. _Maybe he didn't hear me,_ I thought. I lay still, luxuriating in the warm tingling that still held sway in my pelvis. I had never had so many orgasms in such a short space of time, and each seemed to be better than the last. In the two weeks I had known him, this person had transformed my life.

As full darkness fell, I shivered. “Let’s go to bed, shall we? We have to be up early for work in the morning.”

He sucked gently on the sensitive part of my shoulder, making me shudder again, this time with pleasure. “OK,” he mumbled, grinding oh-so-subtly against my backside, “Yeah.”

I closed the balcony door and the kitchen window, then followed him into the bathroom. Everything felt so comfortable, in a way I had not known in many years. When we were first married, my ex Mark and I had that kind of relationship. We were so relaxed in each other’s space that nothing was forced or awkward. It didn't last beyond the first couple of years, but the difference there was it took us many months to gain that ease with each other. Oakley and I had it after four days of a physical relationship. In fact, now I came to think about it, we had it after one day. I glanced at him in the mirror above the basin. His eyes looked sleepy as he brushed his teeth. He winked at my reflection, smirked around a mouthful of foam and budged over to let me reach my own toothbrush. I elbowed him playfully, and he nudged back. As we continued to brush, I did it again a teeny bit harder. Then I nearly spat out all my toothpaste in one go when two large hands began tickling my waist.

“Stop it!” I spluttered, “Let me finish...OAKS! _Pack it_ … RIGHT.”

I turned on him, digging my fingers into the flesh above his hipbones. Or at least, trying to, because that stuff isn’t soft and yielding like the layers of fat around my body, _oh no…_ That smooth, sexy expanse was too firm, too hard… We wrestled, _very briefly._ I am no match for him in strength or reach. He towered over me, and is so long-limbed that he soon had control. But the moment he did, instead of tickling he was kissing me. Sweetly, _mintily,_ sexily but gently. His hands cupped my face and I moaned as his tongue teased mine.

It was intoxicating. In place of the sex-mad, randy-arsed youth of Thursday lunchtime, a suave, charming and romantic man was inexorably guiding me to my bed. No words, no grabbing, no whining. Just fingers and palms stroking my arms and back, teasing over my bottom and the subtlest of pressure on my legs from his. And all the time, his mouth; that gorgeous, irresistible, magnetic mouth worked its magic on mine. His fingers came around and unfastened the belt on my robe and carefully removed it. He hung it up on the back of the door, turning back and stepping out of the aforementioned abominations, then stooping low to kiss my breasts almost reverently.

“Oaks…”

“Mmmm?”

I reached for his hand and took it, lifting it up and kissing the palm. We got into bed, Oakley following me. Once I was lying down he covered my body with his and resumed the delicious kissing.

We made love. Truly _made love._ I don’t know if it was the trauma of seeing his father, his declaration that morning, or mine that evening, but I know we both felt it: we loved one another, and it had to be expressed. There was no urgency, no rushing, no overwhelming need for completion. In place of those there was tenderness, emotional intimacy and affection. My breasts were worshipped; my body was kissed and licked, nuzzled and nibbled. I responded in kind, caressing and squeezing; sucking and pressing. Throughout this, from time to time our eyes would meet, and when he finally entered my body, slowly and smoothly, filling me with his magnificent length and breadth, our sighs filled the room. Our joining had come not too soon, nor too late, but at the moment beyond which neither of us could endure without it. No words were needed.

I wrapped myself around him, to be as close and as entangled as I could. I wanted no space, not a millimetre between us. I wanted us to be one, utterly together. I had never felt this need before. I had believed myself in love in the past, but _love_ was an inadequate description for what I felt that night. We moved, we breathed as one; our hearts beat together, our sweat mingled, our bodies blended and merged. When we came, it was together and we remained joined for a long time afterwards, Oakley still above me, his face in my hair, my limbs still around him, reluctant to loosen their hold.

I don’t know how much later it was, but eventually he slipped out and rolled over to lie next to me. He snuggled into my shoulder and kissed the flesh on the crest of it.

“Con?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Did you mean it? It wasn’t just one of those things you say, you know, when you’ve just come, I mean?”

I turned on my side to look at him. His eyebrows were raised, and he looked the way he had when he cut his finger in the event that started all this: like a little boy. This _was_ the right moment.

“Oh yes, Thomas. I meant it.” I took a breath and looked into those beautiful eyes.  “I love you.”

*********

“I think I should go and see Pauline today. I don't want her to hear any rumours.”

We were walking along the river path towards College. Something alarmed the ducks and there was a sudden burst of quacks and a flurry of splashy flapping. Traffic noise rumbled across the park from the inner ring road. It was still early, and apart from the odd fellow-worker and some hardy joggers, we had the place to ourselves. Oakley stopped abruptly.

“Pauline? You mean the HR woman? _WHY?!_ ”

“Because if I tell her, it’ll be fine. If she _finds out_ , it looks dodgy.”

“But… there’s no reason...it’s not against the rules, is it, you and me?”

“No, I don't think so. But it is a bit… well, _you know_ , you’re only a couple of years older than our students, and I want to tell her myself, love. I think it’s the best thing.” He was still anxious, I could see that, but I was certain this was the best next move for us. I had no idea how I would handle it if she told me to cease and desist, mind you. _Bitch-slap, perhaps?_ I looked at him. The rising sun was behind him, making his curls into a halo. His face was tense with worry. “I don’t know what she’ll say, but experience has taught me that it’s always best in the long run to be straightforward and honest from the outset with employers.”

He looked doubtfully at me, but when I held out my hand he took it and we set off again. As soon as we got to work I rang Human Resources and established that Pauline would be free for an informal chat at about ten. Then Oakley and I got started on the daily tasks. It was the second and last week would be on our own; Cathy would be back from Florida next Monday, and the week after that was results day, and then, before we knew it, the summer would be just a blissful memory. My heart sank a little at that thought.

I didn’t _want_ to tell the head of HR that I was banging the summer temp, but I knew it was the right thing to do. If it had been just a sexual liaison, I might have simply broken it off ( _ouch_ ) and there’d have been no need for anyone to know (I _think_. I don’t really know, because I’d never done anything remotely like this before). But it wasn’t just that. I had no idea if I would see Oakley again after he finished his contract and returned to Cambridge. We hadn’t discussed any of that, nor spoken of the future, other than how it gave him the hope of escape from his father’s disapproval. But whatever tomorrow held for us, I loved him, and that meant that I needed to be able to be honest about us.

I considered my options as the clock ticked around to ten. I had two, no, _three_ things in my favour, I thought that morning: I had an exemplary work record in the ten years I had worked there; there had never been a whiff of anything scandalous before; and my trump card was that I knew I was pretty much indispensable in the office. Armed with the confidence this afforded, I set off to bare my soul.

Oakley’s fears were unfounded. I thought I understood why he wanted to keep it quiet; I imagine that living with a man like his father had made him resort to secrecy and lies to avoid confrontation, but that was not my way. Not to mention entirely inappropriate in this situation. And it turned out there was no need; Pauline is an experienced professional, and pretty pragmatic. She thanked me for my honesty and while not exactly giving us her blessing, she confirmed that there was no ethical issue, provided we avoided PDAs at work. She said nothing, but the smile on her face when she realised what I was telling her made me suspect she understood. When I told him we were in the clear, Oakley slumped into his chair in relief, suggesting he had been seriously worried. His face lit up as an idea occurred to him.

“How about popping back home for a bit of lunchtime fun?”

Despite my aching hips, I agreed.

But before that, I needed to get the _College Stationery Shop_ stocked up and ready for the start of term. There were still a few weeks to go but those would be hectic with other jobs, to say the least, so this last window of tranquillity was ideal for getting it done in a relaxed way. A few deliveries had come in during the summer and I loaded up the trolley with the boxes that had been stacked in the corner and plucked the relevant keys off the rack. A newly cheerful voice piped up.

“I’ll help!”

I hesitated. It meant locking up the office, but it was very quiet that morning and it would only be for a short period. Thus I put up the ‘back soon’ notice, secured the doors and we set out. Despite the fact that the shop was literally just around the corner, we had to go a long way round. The College campus is a hybrid one. The main building where we were is actually the result of three phases: an original four-storey Victorian school, that has had many occupants and identities over the years, with an attached 1980s development built when the current Sixth Form College system was instigated. Adjoining that is a slightly newer, 90s extension which includes the General Office and Reception on the ground floor. Other, even newer buildings fill the rest of the campus, down the hill towards Colchester’s Roman town wall. Given the undulating nature of the site, there are many changes of level throughout, and this meant that the direct route to the Shop from Reception was up a short flight of stairs and along about ten feet of corridor. But with a loaded trolley, we had to make a somewhat more convoluted journey.

After several minutes of pushing, shoving and manoeuvring our awkward load over thresholds and through double-doors, up some slopes and down others, we reached our destination. I looked at Oakley. He was pink from the effort, slightly sweaty (it was another warm day) and his eyes were flashing. That tongue, _that wicked, talented tongue_ , was stroking his lower lip. _Down boy… Like I said before, hair-trigger..._ I opened the Yale lock on the outer door, we pulled and pushed the trolley in and I looked around. The counter was mostly clear, but I could see that a good tidy and dust was needed, so I set to it, sorting out the boxes of pens, erasers, blocks of paper, mathematical instruments, printer cartridges and all the other study paraphernalia needed for the many and varied courses we offer. I got Oaks to lift down the stuff from the high shelves so I could see what we had and noted any ordering I needed to do before things got going. That done, I had him replace everything and add the new types of paper and folder I had been told to stock for the changes to courses or curricula.

I confess I love working in there - I have what you might call a fetish for stationery. I cannot resist the lure of a fresh notebook, a block of unused paper or a virgin pencil… Stacks of multi-coloured post-its or a really nice new pen… ecstasy! Two pairs of hands, one of them on a beanpole with a surprising strength meant we were done in less than half the time I had expected, but not without the usual sort of eye-fucking that I had learned to expect from my delicious cougar-bait. His long, elegant fingers stroked the rolls of sugar paper, he grunted unnecessarily loudly and breathlessly when he lifted boxes of paper and staples, and whenever our eyes met I felt jolts of electricity shoot up and down my spine. Somehow, I kept my desperation for him in check and, shamelessly outrageous flirting aside, he behaved too. After an hour, we looked around at the tidy, well-stocked shelves and sighed in satisfaction. Then I noticed Oakley had closed the door to the corridor.

“Come here.” His voice was dark, low and ever so slightly menacing. I felt a frisson of excitement.

“Oaks, we _can’t_.”

“Yes, we can. I checked, and there are only three other people on site today.” He grinned rakishly and his eyebrows waggled. He glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 12:45. “And I bet they’re off at lunch now, an’ all.”

‘ _Well…_ OOF!”

Two large hands had pulled me hard against his bony hips. His mouth was on my neck, sucking, teeth grazing lightly. I felt all my blood rushing southwards and my knees threatened to buckle. I tried to resist, but he was like a terrible addiction. ”Oaks... _oh. Er...ah!_ But Pauline said...no… _OOH!_ No public displays…”

“This isn't public.” He growled into my skin and I surrendered. Something of a formality, because my hand was already down the back of his jeans… _I know, but you try resisting him..._. He backed me up against the counter and lifted me bodily onto it, his hands up my skirt the moment my bum hit the formica. I grabbed his curls as his head followed in quick order. I had to let go with one hand almost immediately to stuff my fist in my mouth or bring the caretakers running. He had pulled my knickers aside and was licking me hard and fast. When two fingers slid inside and he sucked my clit into his mouth I came, grunting obscenely against my knuckles, totally out of control.

_What the hell had happened to me? A week ago I was a respectable divorced woman living a quiet life. Now I was the all-too willing partner of a sex-mad fuck-bunny… that I was falling in love with, despite his being almost exactly HALF MY AGE._

Footsteps outside made us both freeze mid-dismount, er, as it were. Oakley lowered me very gently the rest of the way to the floor as we both recognised the Principal's voice by the door, apparently speaking into her phone. I caught his wild-eyed stare of alarm and tried to calm him. I lifted a finger to my lips and we waited, hardly able to breathe, until her voice was no longer audible.

“Fuck, that was close!”

“Yes. That’s why doing this here is a bad idea, love. If we’d been caught, that’d be it.” I gave the time-honoured throat-cutting gesture.

He pulled me into his arms and could tell the fright had dampened his ardour somewhat. “I’m sorry, Con. You’re right.” He kissed the top of my head, then my mouth sweetly. “It’s your fault for being so fucking sexy. I can’t keep my hands off you”

I gave him a look which I hoped conveyed mild irritation but probably looked more like gormless lust. He grinned and tipped his head slightly.

“Back to yours, then?”

_Insatiable! Me, that is…_

We were steps from my block entrance when I heard Oakley’s phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked at it and his face fell.

“What is it, love?”

“It’s Dad. He wants to know where I am. He says he needs to see me.”

“When?”

He looked at me and his face made me well up with tears. Not because it was sad, but because all the life, all the mischief and joy that I had fallen in love with was absent.

“Now.”


	8. Warning: Caustic Substance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes in Oakley's family, but he has Connie to lean on. She gets to meet the family at last, but under less than perfect circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait for an update, and for this not be the laughathon I promised previously. Blame the muses...

_“What is it, love?”_

_“It’s Dad. He wants to know where I am. He says he needs to see me.”_

_“When?”_

_He looked at me and his face made me well up with tears. Not because it was sad, but because all the life, all the mischief and joy that I had fallen in love with was absent._

_“Now.”_

Oakley was stiff and pale. I touched his arm. “Does he say why he needs to see you so urgently, love?”

“No… oh, hang on, it’s…” His voice went very small. “It’s my Gran… Gran’s in hospital.” He stuffed his phone in his pocket and began turning away. “I’d better go.”

“I’ll drive you. Is she at the General?”

“Yeah...Would you? Ta.” He was a little boy again, his eyes wide and lost. We diverted towards the garages behind the block, where I left my car on working days.

“Has she been poorly?”

“No...  don’t think so, anyway. I saw her a coupla weeks ago... she was fine. Normal.” He was very quiet, but obviously near to tears, frantic with worry. I didn’t press him again; there seemed to be such a shortage of love in his life, which was one reason why we had been so attracted to each other; perhaps his paternal grandmother was one of the few sources of it in his family.

I dropped him as close to the hospital entrance as I could, promising to tell HR what was happening on his behalf. He said he’d keep me posted, but he’d taken on the distant, colder, fainter character of the person I'd seen sitting on the bench outside the Co-op in his village. I hoped it was just his natural concern for his Gran, but something niggled at the back of my brain that it might also be the prospect of spending time with his father. Something was terribly fucked up in their relationship.

Oakley is no saint, god knows, but he deserves better than that.

I got back into the office, did as I promised and explained his situation to those that needed to know, then did my best to get on with my work. I did not hear anything from Oakley until I was walking home, feeling terribly alone as I watched others enjoying themselves in the park. My phone pinged and I scrabbled to get it out of my bag.

**< They think shes had a stroke. She cant talk, seems very upset.>**

<Oh darling. Do u want me to come?>

**< Better not. TTYL. Love u xx>**

**__________________________________**

 

It was dark when the sound of his key in the door woke me. I had dozed off on the sofa, and my book had fallen onto the floor. “Oaks?”

“It’s me, yes, Con.” He padded over softly. “Sorry, love, did I wake you?”

I sat up. His face was a white mask in the gloom. “How is she?”

He shook his head and turned away, heading towards the kitchen. _Oh no._ I got up and followed, catching him up as he flicked the switch on the kettle. I put my arms around his waist and held on tight. I knew how hard it was to say these things, so I wanted him to know I’d guessed. He reached up for the tea bags and I squeezed tighter as the sobs began to rock through him.

“Let me do that, Oaks.”

He shook his head again. “I don’t really want anything.”

“Come and sit for a moment.” I reached for his hands and guided him back into the living room until we found the sofa. “Can you tell me what happened, darling?”

“A blood clot, they said. Went to her lung. She just stopped breathing. It was very peaceful, actually.”

“You were there?”

He nodded, tears overflowing. I pulled him into the crook of my neck and we stayed like that for a long time. It was cool, and my back hurt, but he needed me and nothing else mattered. Eventually he straightened up and looked into my eyes.

“I’m so tired. Can we go to bed?”

“Of course, come on.” I helped him - he was a little boy again, exhausted, physically and emotionally. Once he was undressed, I slipped in beside him and cuddled up. I felt him sigh and relax as he settled against me, and that made me feel slightly better. I could offer him some comfort, at least.

It was still dark when I became aware the warmth of his mouth on my neck and the urgent hardness against my backside. It might seem strange to some, but I understood, I understood him. So, I went with it, turning to face him and lifting his chin so our mouths met. He moaned and I pulled him closer still, allowing my leg to slide over his hip and then we were one again.

Afterwards there was none of the brash, cocky youth I had come to adore. He was still and quiet, staring at the ceiling. I was snuggled against his side, and I allowed my hand to trace the shape of his chin, shoulder and collarbone. “What are you going to do today? Do you need-”

“I’m coming to work, of course.”

“Are you sure? You know, you can… If your Dad needs you to-”

“He never needs me for anything.”

“Oh, darling.”

“He said he’d be going into the City as usual today. There’s nothing to be done today except collect the death certificate, and my aunt is doing that, she said. She’s taking care of all that stuff.” He took a shuddering breath.

“Do you want to tell me about your Gran, darling?”

There was a long silence, and I felt him struggling. His abdomen was tight, with unshed tears probably. “Maybe later.” He took another of those painful-sounding deep inhalations. “What is the time?”

“Oh, it’s only about five-thirty.”

“I think I might go for a run, before my shower.” He started to get up.

“OK, love.” I reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you get back. How about some scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I got up too, and headed for the shower. Under the water, I reflected. I had to let him handle it however he needed to. It was most likely his first major bereavement, he was bound to be struggling. Add in the family history, and Oakley’s natural need to cover his real vulnerabilities… _Yes, Connie, there was probably going to be quite a bit of ducking and diving and rolling with the punches for a while._

                                    _________________________________

 

A couple of days went by, bright and sunny outside, but Oakley remained a pale shadow of his normal self. He insisted on coming in to College with me as usual, and on balance I thought that was probably best. It was obvious that going home wouldn’t be a good move, and in any case, it seemed his father was back at his workplace, too. He covered whenever anyone came into the office, or when Janine asked for help with some lifting or reaching task, as she had taken to doing with monotonous regularity. He smiled but less, joked less, teased the ladies less, a reduced version of the usual Oakley M.O.  I had told everyone who needed to know what was happening, so most of the kind people I work with just said the usual nice things and left him alone.

He was quiet when we were alone together, too. Determined not to add to the oppressiveness he got from his parent, I was patiently waiting for him to open up when he was ready. On the third day, he had a text from his aunt with the date and details of the cremation.

He sighed and in my peripheral vision I saw him straightening his back. “I want you to come, Connie.”

My head shot up. I was sort of expecting him to say something about it, but I had thought he’d ask, not announce it like this. We were having dinner, and I had to swallow my mouthful before I could respond. He wasn’t even looking at me, just - _apparently_ \- calmly resuming eating his salad, poking at the plate with his fork. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now he looked, eyes afire. “Who for?”

“Well, it’s just, that is, I only meant that funerals are family occasions, and I’m not-”

“You are to me! I love you, Con, I need you with me.” He put down his fork and reached for my hand, eyebrows raised in appeal. “Please say you’ll come. For me.”

I thought for a moment. It wouldn't be easy: I’d have to ask for time off at a busy moment, and not with the excuse of it being my relation. “Of course, I’ll try, love, but I can't be sure that Pauline will let me.”

His face hardened. “Oh.”

“I will plead my case very earnestly, though, of course!” I squeezed his fingers. “And I may threaten to take unpaid leave if I have to.”

“Thanks.” He picked up his fork with his left hand, still holding onto me. I looked at him. He was still so beautiful, but his grandmother’s death had hit him very hard, and he seemed lessened by it. He had lost some of his spark, that twinkle of mischief was missing, unsurprisingly. I hoped it would return. “She’d have loved you, you know.”

“Would she?”

“Oh, I’m sure. She was funny, sarcastic. Nothing like Dad.” He smiled, and I saw him remembering happy times. “She used to tell him off quite a bit, which he hated.”

“Mothers do that. Part of the job description, I think.”

“Probably… She always seemed to have time for me and my cousins, though. I remember spending hours in the garden at hers, just messing about with pots and compost and seeds.”

“She was a gardener?”

“Oh, yes. She has- …she _had_ a beautiful garden. It’s in Dedham, near the church. We should go and see it.” He looked away, at the window. “I wonder what will happen to the house now. I suppose it will have to be... Dad and Aunt Thelma will sell it, I ‘spose. It must be worth a bit.”

_In that location? You bet…_ “Depends what your Gran’s will says, I imagine. Do you know what provision she’s made?”

“Not a clue. She was always saying not very cryptic things, usually when Dad was around, while winking at me, but I never took them seriously. I assumed she was just winding him up.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know, she’d say that line from _Monty Python and the Holy Grail,_ about,” he waved his arm expansively, “‘one day, son, all this will be yours’, and me or Josh’d say, ‘what, the curtains?’ and we’d all laugh, except old Miseryguts, of course…”

“But you don’t think she’s actually left you the house?”

“Me? I sincerely doubt it! Fuck, Dad would have a fit! Plus there are other cousins, Josh and Anne. No, maybe a trust…? I dunno.” He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and I could see he didn’t want to think about it.

“Tell me some more about her. You know, I don't even know what she looked like.”

“Oh, no… sorry, here.” He whipped out his phone and showed me, his eyes swimming as he found a shot of them together in the garden he’d been reminiscing about. The picture showed a gracious-looking lady with a grey chignon smiling broadly at Oakley as he took the selfie using his ridiculously long arms. Her eyes had that same mysterious colour of the sky and the intelligent and witty spark I had fallen in love with.

“She was beautiful, Oaks!” I got up and walked round the table to his chair to hug him. “You must miss her terribly.”

He nodded. “I do, yes.” Then he looked up into my face. “But not as much as I would if I didn’t have you in my life, Con.”

I pulled him close again and he snuggled into my bosom. I ravelled my fingers through his curls, which were messy and damp from the hot day and soon his lips were exploring the edge of my camisole. Dinner was a distant memory as his hands wandered inside my shorts and mine drifted down his neck, and he persuaded me onto his lap.

In just over a week we had gone from mad lust to this gentle intimacy, and I loved both, but somehow this was far sexier. Perhaps it was that this was more open: we were both vulnerable to each other. I held nothing back anymore. Gone were those far-off feelings of doubt; now I dare say what I felt without hesitation. And I did, because I needed him to know that he could do the same, on any subject, especially now.

“Stand up, Con.”

I did as he asked and he led me to the bedroom, his face solemn but the flush of arousal rising on his neck and his shorts tenting obscenely. At his prompting I got on my back and he stripped, his eyes never leaving mine. When his tongue traced his lower lip, I moaned softly and he smiled, knowing the effect he was having. When I began to take my own clothes off he shook his head briefly, so I stopped; clearly, he had other plans, and my excitement ratcheted up a notch. I moaned again, a little louder. “Patience, darling.”

“Oaks, what are you up to?”

“Shhh...you’ll see…”

He went to my drawer then, the one where I keep my scarves. I raised an eyebrow as he searched carefully, choosing a thin silky one and closing it. _Oh…_

“Close your eyes.”

This was new, but not unwelcome. And if it was distracting for him, more’s the better. He tied the scarf around my eyes gently, checking it wasn’t too tight, then he began to undress me, but slowly. Very slowly. I wriggled. I moaned. I whined.

“Don’t make me find another one for a gag, Connie.”

“But Oaks, jeez, I need-”

“I know what you need, Connie.” At that moment he pinched a nipple through my bra and I squealed. My hips jerked; it was as if there was a direct connection from my boob to my core and he was tugging on the line.

“Fuck…”

“Oh yes, but not yet.”

“Tease.”

That funny, wicked laugh of his came from very close to my ear, and then he was kissing my mouth as he removed my shorts and panties a little less languorously than he had my vest top. I felt the cool air on my fanny: I was soaking wet already. “Dear oh dear, what a shameless woman…”

“It’s you, you terrible, unbearably sexy creature. You know you do this to me all the time.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, come on-”

He converted my words into a gasp of pleasure by brushing his fingertips over my clit so lightly that, had I not already been two-thirds of the way to an orgasm thanks to his strip-tease and sensual touching, I might hardly have felt it. As it was, I nearly screamed. My hips lifted as I searched out more friction.

“Patience!”

“Says the randy little bugger with the blue balls who nearly fucked me in the document store last week.”

He licked my belly and I felt fingertips dancing on my mound. “I’ve matured since then.”

I reached down and grabbed a handful of curls. “No shit.”

“Connie, let go, or I’ll stop.”

His voice had a tone I’d never heard before. It was like when he marched me out of the kitchen and fucked me on the dining table, but more so. More authoritative. I released him immediately (I’m not keen on men being dominant in bed, but I’m also no fool: this was shaping up to be rather delightful). He lifted me up for a moment to remove my bra, catching my boobs as if they might fall off if he didn’t. It was lovely that, tender and loving (at least I hoped that was his intention, rather than a comment on my forty-year-old floppiness). Then he made me lie back again and he sucked and nibbled, pressed and pinched until I was squirming once more. I did my best to be patient, but it isn’t in my nature, not when there is so much goodness right there for the taking.

Then suddenly he slid downwards and his mouth was on my clit and I was moaning and almost screaming, because he is so good at that. Can it be that mouths that work so well with words, that tongues that speak so wittily and fast are made for kissing and cunnilingus, too? I don’t know, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Either way, it is definitely true in his case. He chuckled against me and that did it - I felt the collective sensations of my nervous system rushing to a peak as my little nub was thrumming against his talented tongue and my entire body flexed. His hands held me down firmly, or else my pelvis might have taken out some of his front teeth, I think…

“Good?”

I don’t know how much time had passed. His deep, slightly muffled voice came from my belly, where he had rested his head. I stroked his crazy hair. “Good is an entirely inadequate word for whatever that was, you impossible man. Amazing? No, doesn’t cut it either.” I reached up to undo the blindfold but a hand caught my wrist.

“Uh-uh. Not yet.”

“But I wanna see you.” I whined.

“You know what I look like.”

I grinned slyly. “Yes, and I love to see it. It’s the best thing.”

He laughed. “You mean this?” He moved and I felt his cock, the tip damp, the length hot and hard and urgent against my thigh.

“That’s the one, yes,” I said breathlessly, trying not to sound like a woman in a porno (and failing).

“Open your legs, then, Connie.”

Will it ever get old, that feeling? I hope not. I doubt it, frankly. I assume he will be gone long before I tire of him gliding that wonderful thing into me, the heat and the power of it, the passion that it represents… I missed watching his face, because that is always a joy, how his eyes look as I envelop him. Skin to skin; that intimacy again. It’s the most precious thing about us, to me. I think to Oaks too, not that he has expressed it in that way. But he paused when he was fully-seated, and there was a catch in his voice as he told me again that he loves me, so I think, yeah, it’s the same for him.

 

                        ____________________________________

 

I don’t suppose I’m the first person to meet their bf’s father for the first time under less than ideal circumstances, but I’d say that his mother’s funeral is pretty high up the list of ones to avoid. Not that Mr O senior seemed overwhelmed with grief, I have to say. I got my first look at him at the Crematorium, from a distance as the cars arrived. Oakley had wanted me to go to Dedham, to his Dad’s house where they were all setting off from, but I said I had to work until the last minute, which was true. And also, I thought that showing up there was a bit too much, so we agreed I’d meet him outside the chapel.

I did wonder momentarily, as I drove up Mersea Road, whether I was doing the right thing. But then I remembered Oakley’s face that morning as I left for work: pale, tense and desperately sad. The day was going to be an ordeal for him, his father wasn’t going to help him, I could tell, so it was my job to be there for him. I pulled into the half-empty car park and killed the ignition. I checked my reflection in the mirror: I looked OK. I’d made an effort: dressed smartly but understated. Make-up was minimal, too. No point in looking like mutton-dressed-as-lamb. If they all decide I’m a cougar, I didn’t want to make it easy for them…

It was a heartlessly sunny afternoon as I walked down the path and waited outside the gothic-style chapel. I was early but it wasn't long before quite a few other people started to arrive and go inside, and then I saw two big black cars coming down the driveway. The hearse, a beautiful, simple pine coffin with a lovely wreath of lilies on it, and behind that a large Rolls, presumably carrying the family. I straightened up, ready for inspection.

George Oakley was first out of the car. He was, as I had assumed, the man I’d seen that Sunday, berating Oaks after I dropped him off at home: dark, almost leonine looks, not much like my Oakley at all, except in stature. An expensive-looking suit, probably bespoke. Blazing eyes, seemingly full of anger, even on this occasion. He studiously ignored everyone waiting, leaning down and urging his fellow passengers out of the vehicle. He practically shoved the young people aside, but did at least reach in and take his sister’s hand. I didn’t take to him.

Oakley walked over and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my cheek softly. “Thanks, Con.” His eyes were wet, his face was white but with two red spots, as if he were containing anger.

“How are you doing, darling?” I whispered. He looked stunning in his dark suit, but now was not the time to say so.

“I’ll be OK.” He held out a hand to the tall, pretty girl beside him. “This is my cousin, Anne. This is Connie.”

I went to shake her hand, but she kissed my cheeks, speaking softly. “Lovely to meet you. Oaks has told us so much about you, Connie. Glad you’re here for him.”

I was about to be introduced to her brother when Oakley’s father cleared his throat loudly. The undertakers were getting the coffin out of the hearse, so we all stood to one side in a line against the wall. Oakley was holding my hand very tightly. I squeezed his upper arm with my free hand. I could see he was very close to crying; there is something horribly real about that moment, I know.

The pall-bearers adjusted the casket onto their shoulders, then we lined up and followed the minister and Oakley’s grandmother into the chapel. His father shot me a puzzled glance. Had Oakley told him about me, or that I was coming? Maybe not, such being the nature of their relationship… I steeled myself for a difficult afternoon, and focused on my man. He was why I was there, and he needed me. Already his resolve was crumbling, and I could feel soft sobs shaking his body. I looked to my right: the cousins were also crying. Clearly Mrs Oakley was much loved by her grandchildren. And the place was almost full, so plenty of others admired her, too.

 

                                    __________________________

 

Oakley was obviously practiced at avoiding his father, so it was some time into the wake before our paths crossed. Oaks and I had travelled to the house in my car; he’d shown me in the back way, and taken me up to his bedroom for a quick snog and a cuddle. Then we’d gone down and mingled, and I’d talked to some of the other mourners, who turned out to be the great and good of North East Essex; not the usual group I rub shoulders with, you understand. I recognised one man as one of the governors of the College, and wasn’t that the local Tory M.P…?

But finally the inevitable happened. Oaks and I were in the rather handsome dining room, helping ourselves (or rather I was, he wasn't hungry for once) to the buffet, when a loud voice made us both jump out of our skins. “Thomas! Where have you been all afternoon?”

Oakley turned round slowly and spoke, his face stony. “I’ve been here, Dad. You only had to look for me.”

“Where did you get to after the ceremony? And who’s this?”

“This is Connie. She gave me a lift.”

I stepped forward and offered my hand. “Connie Girling, Mr Oakley. I’m working with Oak-, um, with Tom, at the Sixth Form College.”

He shook my hand, still frowning. He glanced at Oaks. “Ah. I see, yes. It was good of you to come.”

“Connie is my girlfriend, Dad.”

I watched his expression morph. It went from shock to amusement, then to disbelief, then to irritation. _You’re right, Arthur, I thought. He is an arse._

“What?” He stared at Oakley, then at me, then back at his son. “Aren’t there rules about interfering with students these days?”

I grabbed his arm to remind him of my proximity. “Excuse me, I’m right here; you can ask me that question.”

He looked down at my hand as if it was something radioactive. I removed it and resisted the temptation to wipe it theatrically on my skirt. I was beginning to understand where Oakley was coming from, in every sense.

Oakley _pere_ raised his eyebrows at me. “Well?”

“Of course there are, but your son is an employee of the College, not a student, and we are colleagues. And in any case, it’s none of your business.” Oakley sniggered loudly as his father ground his teeth in irritation.

We must have made an odd tableau, because at that moment, one of the catering staff came in with a tray of petit fours, and she paused on the threshold, a puzzled expression on her face. Aware of her presence, George gave each of us a dirty look, turned on his heel and walked out.

Oakley enveloped me in a tight hug as the woman went discreetly past us to top up the dessert plates. “Oh, Connie, thanks! That was brilliant.”

“Well, sorry. I didn’t mean to antagonise him, but honestly! What a…”

“Arsehole? Yep, that’s Dad, alright.”

We left not long after that, but fortunately not before I had a chance to speak to Oakley’s Aunt Thelma. She looked a lot like his Gran, but with auburn hair and lovely green eyes. She was charming, nothing like her brother, although she did come across as a little reserved. I put that down to natural concern about my age, and of course, the occasion.

When we got back to the flat, Oakley seemed a lot more relaxed. He was exhausted, but definitely less tense. By ten I could see him flagging, so I dragged him towards the bathroom before he fell asleep on the sofa. Soon we were snuggled up in bed and for the first time since he’d more-or-less moved in, we spent the night together without us making love. I can’t pretend I was devastated about that - the next day was A-Level results day, and we’d both need all our wits about us.

_To be continued._


	9. Slippery When Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back to work after Oakley's Gran's funeral, and other things seem to be getting back to normal too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I would drop a little cougar-smut this week as I think we are all in need of distraction right now...

The view from my balcony, across the tops of the trees towards the river as it flows downstream and out of sight, and of the tallest buildings of the University, was fading with the daylight. It was getting chilly as dusk fell, but we were reluctant to move. Both of us were exhausted after a hard day, and emotionally drained as well. I nudged him with my foot, which just happened to be resting in his lap. That made him wake from his doze, and regard me with a look I had come to know only too well.

We were shattered. A-Level Results Day is always stressful, and it’s also one of the longest working days of the entire year. We in the General Office have to arrive extra early to collate the results for both the College website and the Governing body, which usually means - metaphorically - tearing them from the sweaty grip of anxious Heads of Department, not to mention the Principal. Then we have to brief the extra admin and other non-teaching staff who come in voluntarily to help hand out the individual slips to those students who decide they want to collect theirs in person, then get everything ready in the Sports Hall for distribution. All this by 10am on a warm, or sometimes, like this one, a rather hot day. It’s always something of a shock to the system because those of us who work through the summer get used to the relaxed atmosphere, and more importantly the peace and quiet. Suddenly the place is teeming with humanity again; I never like it that much, but as a rule I just get my head down and plough through. 

This year was both worse and better than usual. Worse, because I had not slept all that well the night before, having had a difficult day on the eve. Attending a funeral is no fun and meeting one’s new lover’s family for the first time is never easy. Doing both simultaneously…? Add to that the fact that I am twice his age and his father is the sort of man I wouldn’t… well, let’s just say we’re never going to be friends. The ‘better’ part I mentioned is that Oakley, said lover, that beautiful, nay, utterly gorgeous, sexy, irresistible toyboy of mine was also at College, being as he was a temporary member of the team in the General Office, which is, of course, how we met.

From the time Oakley and I arrived on campus that Thursday until we left, getting on for twelve hours later, we barely spoke to each other, and had no time alone, and that was probably not a bad thing. The past week or so had been emotionally exhausting for us both, but especially for him. It was obvious his grandmother’s death had hit him terribly hard. All I could do was be there and give him the support he needed, because I knew his father wasn’t capable of doing that. Her funeral, painful as it was, had been a kind of full stop, the cathartic experience it was culturally designed to be, and now that was over a day out of his head was just what Oakley needed.

Once we were in the hall and handing out the results, I was ‘floating’, meaning I was basically a troubleshooter, dealing with queries and problems, since I was the most experienced team-member. I spent quite a lot of my day guiding distressed or disappointed students to the right places for guidance and support with their university applications, choices for the coming second year or whatever they needed, all of which was on offer from members of staff in private spots around campus. The happy smiling and triumphant faces you see on TV and in the local papers are only part of the picture, unfortunately. 

Oaks, on the other hand, was sitting behind the desk under the A-G sign, handing out slips. Whenever I looked, he seemed like his usual self: chatting, flirting, winking, making the female students blush and giggle, mildly irritating some of male ones, intriguing others. But whenever our eyes met, my stomach would turn over and a tingle danced down my spine, because I knew what that look meant.

_Mine_

And now we were back at my flat. Alone. I felt a large, warm hand tighten just a little around my ankle. 

“Connie.” His voice was low, dark, almost unbearably sexy.

“Yes?”

“What are you thinking?”

I could hardly see him in the gloom, just the glitter of his eyes in what light was filtering out from the living room. I smiled and stretched my aching back. “Actually, you impossibly gorgeous creature, I was thinking that a warm shower would be extremely welcome.”

A pair of eyebrows shot up a handsome tanned forehead. “Followed by…?”

“Bed, of course.”

Oakley was out of his chair like a rat up a drainpipe. “Sounds like a plan!” 

“Hold on, give me a chance… fuck, Oaks, it’s alright for you, you’re twenty. I’m old and knackered…” 

I began to drag my aching body into an upright position. Suddenly I felt a pair of warm hands enveloping my cheeks as his lips met mine. We stood like that for a minute or two, kissing, that and only that, on the threshold. He’s really good at it - kissing I mean. His kisses are special. It’s difficult to explain why. There’s something mysterious about them, these kisses, as if he’s exploring, testing, searching for something hidden among my lips and just inside my mouth. Something that he needs, because there is always a kind of desperation about it, this quest; an anxious deliciousness, an urgent sensuality that leaves me reeling and weak at the knees. But then something rather less cryptic began to make itself apparent, pressing painfully into my belly at about waist-level. I pressed back very gently and Oakley moaned loudly into my mouth, making my entire body quiver.

“Fu-u-u-u-ck, Con…”

“That is the general idea, darling, but I would like a shower first, if only to loosen up my back muscles. I’m liable to pull something if- HEY!” I found myself being dragged unceremoniously towards the bathroom and it was all I could do to keep my feet and not burst out laughing. “OK, OK, slow down, jeez, man, five more minutes won’t kill you…”

I was rewarded for _that_ remark with a very dirty look. Still, that shower was exactly what my body needed. As soon as I stepped under the hot water I could feel everything loosening up and relaxing. I let out a great sigh just as a tall, bronzed Adonis stepped in beside me, a soppy grin on his face. I gave him an irritated look: I really wanted a quick shower for, well, medicinal reasons, not one of his soapy fooling around sessions. Those can end up being rather dangerous to life and limb, in my experience, but young Thomas Oakley is not easy to argue with, especially not when he has his heart set on something… 

Long, nimble fingers began to massage my aching muscles and I accepted that he might have a point. When those same fingers worked their way over my hips and between my thighs, I gave up altogether and surrendered. But I did so by way of stepping under the shower for a rinse, then out of the cubicle so that we could continue what we started in the much safer environment of the bedroom. 

Drying a young, firm and very beautiful body like Oakley’s is a sexual experience in itself. He took some persuading, but after I had batted away his hands a few times, he allowed me to continue unmolested. I began with his hair: mad, unruly blond curls, a cherub’s. Water makes them even curlier, and they are so soft, I adore to bury my fingers, my nose, my… yeah, well… Then that beautiful angelic face. Eyes the colour of the sky, whatever it happens to be, those expressive brows, cheekbones to die for, the jawline of a screen idol… And I haven’t even got to the _really good stuff yet._  

He’s slim, lithe, like a dancer, with strong legs and a nice round arse. Tanned, with even some colour under where his shorts go, so there’s been a bit of nude sunbathing this summer, naughty… and not too hairy, which I also prefer. Golden down on his arms and legs… Just a few on his chest, enough to tug on, and the natural look lower down, _thank god._ I mean, I suppose some people like men who shave their pubes, or worse…? I’m afraid it just seems at best rather porn-star-ish and at worst a bit serial-killery to me… Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Or just old.

You’re probably thinking that I am overdoing this - admit it. And I wouldn’t blame you. If I were you, I’d probably think the same. But you have to understand that just a few weeks ago, at the beginning of the summer holidays I was an extremely celibate forty-year-old divorcée who had given up on men and sex altogether. The very idea that I would be having this kind of relationship with someone so young and so incredibly… NAH. Fantasyland, right? So, I am not wasting a moment, and I am making the most of every second, because honestly, I don’t know how long it’s going to last. 

Now, where was I… oh yes, drying Oaks. Probably the best fun I’ve ever had with a towel… Unfortunately, I was enjoying it a bit too much, and taking longer than my delicious cougar-bait could bear. By the time I had slowly and teasingly worked my way down his mostly flat tummy towards tumescent not-so-Little Oaks, Big Oaks was practically hopping from one foot to the other in frustration.

“Con...jeez, c’mon, please, oh...fu-u-u-ck…”

I stood up and gave him an innocent look as I put the towel on the rail beside him. “What?”

He didn’t bother to answer, just snarled and grabbed me, still wet - all over, that is - and scooped me into his arms, carried me into the bedroom and tossed me onto the bed despite my shouts of protest. I can’t imagine what my downstairs neighbours think about what has happened recently… well, actually I can. Oops. 

“Oaks, I’m all... the sheets will get soaked!”

“And they won’t anyway, by the time we’ve finished?”

“Well…”

And then his signature: “Open your legs, Connie,” striding towards me. Being a sensible woman of the world, I did as I was told.  So young, then so determined; there was no need for much subtlety. I closed my eyes and allowed my head to drop back as Oakley’s mouth reached my soaking quim. I was tired and already about three-quarters of the way there, so as the hot wetness of his tongue and the deliciously contrasting roughness of his stubbly upper lip made contact with my most sensitive places I began to spiral into ecstasy. I grabbed a handful of those golden curls and pulled hard, making him moan loudly against me, a sensation I can highly recommend. 

I was greedy for my orgasm, you might have thought that being so available to me after such a long drought, sex would become, if not boring, then at least routine. Instead, I seemed to be getting hornier by the day. Once I released his head from between my thighs, thus allowing him to breathe (or so he claimed - he looked pretty well oxygenated to me, the little liar), Oaks slid up the bed and flopped down beside me for a breather. I looked down; he really has a very beautiful penis, as penises go… I licked my lips.

“Shall I…?”

“Nah, I fancy a bit of doggy-style, if you don’t mind…?” The eyebrows were deployed again. He uses them very cleverly; you might even say, strategically. I know when I am being manipulated, but as long as I am willing and don’t feel exploited, it’s fine, isn’t it?

“Mind…?”

So there we were, me holding onto the bedhead, him behind slamming into me and oh god, so good, so very, very good, and life doesn’t have much better to give, does it? I mean, I know I sound shallow because there is more to happiness than good, no GREAT sex, but then, there is more to us than that. But without this there would be no us… And when he got close, his arms gathered me tighter and held me against him. He said my name over and over until he jerked raggedly and then we both collapsed on the bed.

“You were right.” My words were muffled as I was more or less face down on the pillow, unwilling and mostly unable to move.

“Was I? What about?” He was the same only lying on top of me.

“The sheets.”

“Eheheheh. Yeah…”

I pulled the duvet up as it was already feeling chilly. I had dried off, but the sheet below was still rather damp. Oh well, I could live with it. Oakley seemed to be dozing already, so I popped out for a post-sex pee, then snuggled back in against him. I was wrong, because he turned and enveloped me in those ludicrously long arms.

“Con.”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Can I stay here with you until I go back to Cambridge?”

My mind did a quick calculation. Cambridge terms, I knew, didn’t begin until the start of October. That was a big commitment from us both, after a relatively short time. But then, we had come so far so fast already. “Is that what you want, Oaks?”

His lips met mine in a soft, sweet kiss. He sighed against my cheek. “So much, love. I can’t even bear the thought of going back there.” He sighed deeply again. “So, can I move in properly?”

I thought about his father’s possible reaction. “You don’t think your Dad will object?”

Oakley sniggered, an unpleasant sound I didn’t much like. “I doubt he’ll even notice. Not unless he feels the need to have a go at someone.”

I could have asked him to let me think about it. I could have listed a few reasons why it wasn’t a good idea. I had been living alone for some years and sharing again might cause problems for us, change our relationship, blah, blah… But of course I didn’t do that, because I loved him. He needed this, he needed me, so I said yes. We agreed that on Saturday we would go to Dedham and collect his stuff, and afterwards we would swing by his Gran’s garden so he could show me how lovely it was.

Of course, I should have known that nothing ever goes smoothly where me and Oakley are concerned.


End file.
